The Prison of My Mind
by Filhound
Summary: Years before ultimatums were given and choices made, the consequences of which still echo through time. Will the demons of the past return to haunt those involved, or will they remain buried in the past? EC eventually as always. My stories are known to have many twists, abandon at your peril. You will understand in time. This story begins in the past but goes to the present.
1. Chapter 1

To my regular readers, this is a story that popped into my head. Erik is a protagonist, as always in my stories. In this one, so is Raoul, as he was in my original two stories. I owe him as much since he was portrayed very evilly in my last story. Trust me and give it a chance. Please read and review as always. FYI I will not likely update as quickly as you are used to in my stories. I am writing a novel concurrently, and have other distractions, but I have never yet abandoned a story. The more reviews favorites, etc that I do get, the more likely I am to update but even then it might be a little slow, in other words normal for this site.

Chapter 1.

Paris, France, February 12, 1881, In the Phantom's lair far beneath the Opera House.

A slight and beautiful young woman, barely out of childhood, stood facing the man, who was once her friend, teacher and Angel of Music. Her eyes were ablaze with an array of emotions; hatred, anger, disgust, despair and yes, pity towards the man before her. The man met her gaze with his own tortured stare staring into her very soul,half threatening, half pleading. Only a short time before he had been betrayed by her before all of the elite of Paris who had come to see his work performed. The man wore a mask to hide a cursed and hideous deformity from a hostile and uncaring world. A world that had repeatedly rejected him, until he donned a persona so feared that they did not dare harm him, or belittle him. Yet only a short time before that mask of invincibility had been pierced, revealing the vulnerable man crouching within it. The screams of horror from the audience dug deeply into his heart and mind, like a thousand daggers piercing his flesh, ripping away the last shattered shards of his sanity. Now there was no more mask to hide behind to protect either his spirit or dignity, she had taken that from him, and yet he still loved her. How he loved her to the innermost moorings of his tortured soul. But it would never be reciprocal, and this at last he realized with a bitterness that deadened his bleeding heart. How could he hope to compete with him; it was the handsome boy that she loved. The same heroic fool who was trapped in his web, he held the power to either kill him or release him and he would use it. His eyes bore into her soul as he made his impossible demand.

"You try my patience, make your choice," he blustered menacingly, yet inside he was crumbling.

In his heart he knew that even though he had told her that either way she chose she could not win, it was a lie. A complete farce. The truth was plain, and painful to concede even to himself. It was he who was the one who had played the game and had lost everything already, no matter which way she was to choose. He had hoped to sway her to light her affections towards him, yet failed to do so. Now, no matter how it ended, she would hate him forever, and he would still be as alone as he had always been. A hideous monster, that no one had ever loved, not even his own mother. Now no one ever would love him, yet soon his pain would be over. Today, once this true life opera had ended, would be the day that he died. A vengeful mob was approaching fast, and he would not resist them, he resolved not to. Death would be a welcome release. Why cling to a life as empty as this one? For he now knew what fate had been preordained for him from birth. For him, love would never come; only more of the same hatred, and cruelty, that had always littered his path. As he had told Christine only moments before, he had been wallowing in blood forever. It was his curse, his sentence for attempting to survive in a world that despised him, simply for how he looked, a man with the face of a monster. He looked away from her for a moment to wipe away a tear that he did not want her to see. She could not yet be shown his vulnerability, even though he had already lost. He owed himself that much. His last moments in this world would at least have that dignity. He was brought back to reality when he heard her words, she had made her choice.

"Pitiful creature of darkness, what sort of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone."

To his surprise her arms wrapped around him and she pulled his hideous face to hers and placed her perfect lips on his, giving him a kiss. He had been shocked that she would do such a thing. No one had ever come even close to kissing him, the feeling was exhilarating. Then, she did it once again, this time he could feel her lips sear his, as their souls spoke to one another; for a moment he felt a sensation of hope, perhaps love would not be denied him. Time seemed to stand still and for the first time in his miserable life he felt a spark of happiness, a taste of what life might have been if he had been born with a normal face. Then suddenly he pulled away, that kiss had not changed an iota of what was to be. It only served to seal his own dark fate even more firmly than before. She had slammed the door to his prison, and he would not fight for his freedom. It was pointless to try. He could not claim Christine Daae, she was not his to grasp. She was an angel of light trapped in his world of darkness but she could not survive in the dark, nor he in the light. He had no right to claim her love; he never did. It was not that he would stop loving her, he never would, but he could not chain her to him, because no matter what came next he would never truly own her love. He had to let her go; to fly free, back into the arms of her fop. Into the arms of the man that she truly loved, not the vile angel from Hell that he was. He could hear the mob approaching, coming to tear him limb from limb. He would not fight them; Christine had made her choice and now he made his...

Saint-Etienne de Malbaie-Murray-Bay Quebec, Canada, January 29, 1895

A fierce northern storm was swirling around the small rural cabin in a distant part of Quebec, far from either the large urban city of Montreal, or even the smaller but still decent sized city of Quebec. Their home was small but functional. It was a far cry from what they would have enjoyed had they remained in Paris, but that was never an option for the occupants. Long ago they had to find a sanctuary where no one would know of or care about the events that took place years before at the Palais Garnier in Paris involving the alleged specter, or madman, that had haunted that vaunted theatre. This event remained a mystery for many but not for the couple residing there. They were very much at the heart of what was known as _l'affaire estrange. _Even the citizens of this remote part of Canada had heard of the happenings, and as they had hoped when they had fled to this place, no one here gave it much thought. It took place across the sea and involved the sort of people never seen so far from the big city, perhaps such people lived in Montreal or Quebec but not in this remote area.

Although the couple was once Parisienne, with little experience in living away from a large city, they were now part of the community. On the rare times that they left their farm ten miles or so outside of the town, no one gave them a second glance anymore. They were far from being strangers. They had to learn how to fend for themselves and how to live in such a rustic area. They had been able to adjust rather well, at least when it was not snowing so fiercely outside. Their two children spoke with the Quebecois accent, and slang and not the vastly different French of the former mother country that their parents spoke. Their mother spoke with a different accent yet, owing to her roots from Sweden. It had been a long time since she had lived in Sweden or even France, and the couple had no intention of ever returning to Europe. The past there was still too dangerous, and painful for both of them. They had fled to Canada both for the safety of anonymity and the desire to forget who and what they once were. They rarely spoke of the past to either of their children. If they missed having a large extended family, like their school friends were able to enjoy, they did not say so very often. On this night, the Arctic wind howled ceaselessly, drowning out any chance for the occupants getting any sleep. Despite their maturity, they knew that their children would end up in their room, just as they always had. They were all close to one another as only such a small family could be.

Raoul de Chagny looked at his wife and observed lightly, "I do not know how you can stand the cold here in the north. It must be embedded in your Swedish blood. My French blood is freezing inside my veins. Perhaps we should have chosen somewhere else to settle rather than Canada, despite having little choice but to go to this place because it is a large country and French speaking and we could easily get lost, which we did. Yet at the moment I would risk being found, either the Congo or Martinique are sounding very nice. We could have lived in a grass hut, in either place, and I would have still been happy as long as we were together."

Christine de Chagny laughed, "Trust you to complain about the cold, as you have done every winter since we came here. It is not as if Normandy, where you were raised is any warmer, and I believe that the Normans were originally Scandinavian."

Raoul teased, "Nah, the Scandinavian Normans must have headed north to England with William the Conqueror. Those of us who remained behind were most definitely French, most likely of Roman descent. I will need you to keep me warm woman. It looks as if this storm will never end. The New Englanders down south call these type of storms 'Nor'easters' I think. Do you hear that wind whipping about? It sounds like a ghost howling about, haunting us with his scream."

Christine smiled, "I am not afraid of ghosts, or even Phantoms, any more my love. For me the snow is beautiful, almost surreal, like one of those paintings that used to be on display in Montmartre."

Raoul's languid expression immediately changed to one of clear displeasure, "Quiet Christine. I do not like being reminded of those days, not even in jest. Don't even say that word, 'Phantom'. Even invoking that word casually might bring about destruction of everything that we hold dear. That word must never be used, not even by you."

Christine placed a hand on his face, as if to wipe away her husband's frown, "No darling, I am not afraid of _him_ finding us. You went to such great lengths to hide our true destination, and fortuitously for us the _Tararua_ foundered right about the same time that we were rumored to have gone to New Zealand. Your bribing a survivor to describe us as among the unidentified dead, was the crowning touch since no one could name the bodies. It is clear that it worked, and that we are safe here in Canada. It has been thirteen years, and we are at the opposite end of the ocean. Don't you think that if there was any danger to us that it would have come to pass by now?"

Raoul placed a warm kiss upon his wife's brow, "Perhaps, but we can never be sure. Ever since that day Christine, when the two of us walked away from the lair, what has come to pass between us has been an unexpected gift. I almost died that day, and perhaps you might have as well. I cannot think of it lightly, not now, not ever. Do you ever regret your decision that night? It is all right if you do. I understand the bond that you and he once shared. I remember how long that it took for you to shake off his influence."

Christine smiled, "I am here with you and I love you more strongly than ever. We have been happy together here despite everything that happened back then, isn't that enough?"

Raoul placed a kiss on his wife's brow "It is more than enough for me. As I said, every kiss, each hug, every new memory that we share, is a gift to me and to you. Our children are even a greater gift yet. I will protect them from whatever might befall us, should we be detected, just as I have protected you."

"You deserve all of it darling. You suffered greatly before we found peace here. We both did, yet we endured everything to get to where we are. Two beautiful children, a nice home, a good life lived without fear." Christine observed, "Back then I never would have imagined that we could find a place for us to feel safe. To be away from all of the dramas that took place back then. To find such a great love between us that still exists between us despite our rocky start."

"But you had to give up your career, you could never work again, not if we wanted to stay safe." Raoul mused. "Do you ever miss the lights, the crowds, the adoration? You deserved all of it after how hard that you trained for it. How much you endured to hone your talents. You could have been a legend, perhaps the greatest diva ever, at least for a short time until our children were born."

"You were all of the adoration that I needed, mon amour, and you have kept us safe." Christine replied. "He has never found us."

"Yet it doesn't mean that he never will." Raoul reminded her. "We can never let our guard down."

"Yet it was you who once assured me that we would be safe here. It was you who brought us both here after that day. Yet now you seem to be saying that it is not safe?" Christine mused, with concern.

"You know why darling. As long as there are still people who might remember that night and tie us to the events that took place there, there might always be someone who might stir up the ghosts of the past. We can never be truly safe no matter what." Raoul remarked. "But enough brooding about what we cannot control, are you ready for bed?"

Christine smiled impishly, "Yes darling I am ready for bed, but with this weather blowing around how long do you think that it will be until the children are in the room?"

A voice volunteered, "I am already here, Maman."

"You were as quiet as a mouse, Gustave, when did you sneak in?" Christine asked.

The boy laughed, "When I heard the ghost whisper, Maman. I came in to tell you and then I overheard you both talking. Why are we not safe here Pere? Why do neither of you tell us about the past? We must have family back in France. I know for a fact that the de Chagnys are one of the oldest families in France. We read about them in our history books in school yet you never tell neither Marguerite nor I anything about our history. I am twelve years old and Meg is ten don't you think that we deserve to know?"

"No you don't." Raoul told the boy sharply. "And don't you ever ask us again if you know what is good for you."

"But why Pere? Why can't I know? What is so terrible? Why is it such a secret?" The boy replied defiantly, aping his father's stance.

Raoul raised a hand in anger, "Do you dare to defy me? You insolent boy, isn't it enough that I tell you not to ask us about this?"

Christine looked at her husband to mollify him, "Darling, please, I have never heard you speak to our children in that manner. It is only natural that the boy should ask about where we come from. We never do tell him anything about France, and it is your country of birth, and where we met. Where we have a shared history. We only tell them about Sweden and nothing more, and even then we have contacted none of my relatives there."

Raoul looked at his wife, and his anger disappeared. He could not stay angry when he saw her angelic face pleading with him, "Even through our children someone could accidentally discover us and somehow it could get back to _him_ that we are still alive. It is bad enough that we had to keep the de Chagny name. It makes us stand out. We agreed long ago that we would never take the chance of contacting anyone that we knew. Someone could connect you with them and then trace you back here. You knew what you got into when we decided to leave France."

"Please Pere, I won't tell anyone." The boy pleaded. If we have a secret I should know it. I am almost a teenager. Don't I have the right to know about my parent's history? Doesn't Meg deserve to know as well? If you are in danger then we all are and I should know what that danger is. I should know everything about your past. I know that Maman used to be a professional singer back in France. Yet she never sings publically now, not even in church."

"It is too dangerous, for her to sing publically, Gustave. We can never take the chance that someone will recognize her." Raoul explained.

"Why? Because he will find you? Who is this man that you are so afraid of? Please Pere tell us. Meg is here too. She heard everything as well."

Raoul growled, "It is better that you do not know."

Christine looked at her husband and soothed him gently, "Raoul, I think that it is time. It is better that they are aware of everything. Why don't we tell them what happened back then and how we came to live here and why. That way they will not make any inadvertent mistakes that could draw attention to who we are. We are trapped here anyhow and none of us will be able to get any sleep, not until the wind stops howling like a ghost. Even I find it scary and I spent a good part of my life dealing with 'ghosts'."

Raoul gave Christine a warning, "Once we tell them, it will change how the children view things forever. They will see everything in a more sinister light. Do we truly want to blight their innocence by telling them what happened?"

Christine smiled at Raoul warmly, "We always knew and feared that this day would come, that we would finally have to explain what happened. We will tell you both once and then hopefully never speak of it again."

Raoul sighed in defeat, "Fine. Do you want to begin or should I Christine? Marguerite you may come out." He told her smoothly.

"May I sit in your lap Pere? I would like for you to tell us. Even now I still love when you tell me stories. You make the characters come alive and I feel as if I am there," Meg observed then she climbed into her father's lap.

Raoul shot Christine a look, "Perhaps then you should tell them Christine. I would rather that some of the ghosts in this story would remain just that-spirits. This story is real and does not need to 'come alive'."

"It is alright, Raoul, you may start, I am confident that the ghosts will stay buried. I will add in any detail that you might inadvertently omit. We both know the details, even those that we were not present to experience. When we first left France we used to discuss it with one another, to make sense of what happened, and to clear up any misunderstandings."

Raoul agreed, "Fine, I will tell it. But you both must stay silent until after the story has been told. It is a long story, and very tragic, it will be easier if we let you ask questions when we are done. That is not a request but an order. If you interrupt us I will not continue. Is that understood?"

Both children replied in unison, "Yes, Pere."

"Our story is one of love between a woman and two different men, one light and carefree, and another full of darkness and despair. Both men loved the woman to distraction, but only one would be able to leave with her and her love." Raoul told them.

"And that man was you, Pere. You were clearly the victor." Gustave asked.

Raoul looked at his son in exasperation, "There were no victors Gustave, for it was not a game. All three of us paid a steep price for what happened between us." He looked at Christine sadly, "A very steep price indeed." He looked back at his son sternly "Yet, did I not instruct you son that you and your sister might ask no questions until I was done telling the story? I do not want distractions. This story is now over before it has even begun thanks to you."

"It was not a question Pere but a statement, so you must continue." Gustave told him.

Raoul looked at his son in amusement and reluctantly agreed, "Alright then, but this time I mean everything, no questions or statements or any other commentary about what happened, just your attention." He turned to Christine; "The boy is too intelligent for his own good."

Christine smiled radiantly "Just like his father."

Raoul beamed, "You are too kind my darling."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

Raoul glanced at Christine boring deeply into her eyes, "Well, if you truly insist that I should be the one to explain what happened then I shall begin. Don't blame me if I get any of _his_ details wrong, after all it was not as if we sat down and amicably chatted over a brandy and cigars." He looked over at the two children who sat near him, eager to listen.

"I don't care if you get some facts wrong when you tell his part of the story. I have confidence that you will do him justice. Our children must be made to understand all of it. Once long ago I told you everything that I knew about him, and some from that night as well. Surely you could use your own feelings to understand his, and relate them to our children. You have always taught them not to judge others by what they see, rather by what they know. Certainly you can look at _him_ in that same way to make them understand all of it. "

"Yet no two people were ever further apart in both background and other essentials. Do you truly expect me to relay his point of view when we were so different? When we were at odds for so long?" Raoul asked.

"I know that you can do so darling. I have every confidence in you that you can explain what happened back then fairly. You were both Frenchman from Normandy; you each loved the arts and the finer things in life. You both cared about the Opera house in your own way, and most importantly both of you loved and cared about me deeply. Between the two of you, you made my childhood bearable, at least until you began to fight over me. Do you really believe still that you had nothing in common? Nothing at all?" Christine asked.

"When you put it that way I guess that I could find some way of feeling a commonality with him, as difficult as it might be." Raoul conceded reluctantly.

Christine smiled, "That's the spirit, Mon amour, I know that you are capable of stepping into his shoes, to make our children understand."

"I will do so but even with your attempts to bridge the gap between us, it will still be difficult. Yes we were born in the same region of France, and admittedly we loved you passionately at the time, but his upbringing and experiences were nothing like mine." Raoul reiterated. "He and I were like oil and vinegar. Our pasts and interests did touch but could never converge, not for as long as we both sought the same thing. I will ask you one last time would you like to tell the story?"

"Your storytelling skills are amazing, why just last week you were reading the children some of my old Swedish tales and I felt like I was back home again." Christine told him. "Just tell the story in that sort of way and it will flow. If you have to improvise to fill in the gaps in your knowledge feel free to do so. With your skills I am sure that you will do him justice."

Raoul hesitated, as if pulling together his thoughts and then started to speak at first slowly and reluctantly, He looked at his children and sighed in defeat. Bracing his shoulders for what was to come. It was not an easy tale to tell, much would be disturbing to their innocent ears, but they were getting older, and it was best that they both heard what really happened from his mouth, it would not do to have a stranger come and relay it in their stead.

He closed his eyes and then opened them, as the words graced his tongue and began to flow; "It all began in Normandy in northern France, where two boys were born ten years apart and on the opposite side of the region from one another. One boy was born, as handsome as he could be. He was young, innocent and idealistic. He was a creature of the light. He had blond hair, blue eyes and a perfect complexion, most of all he had been raised with love, as you both have been. The other man was as hideous as the other was handsome, perhaps even more so. Most likely, in the all of history, there had never been a creature born more hideous than him…"

Christine interrupted, "Don't say that."

Raoul looked at her defiantly, "But it is true. Again, would you prefer to tell this story?"

"No. I would just prefer that you were not so opinionated." Christine told him.

Raoul conceded, "Fine. I will be more judicious with what I say."

"The hideous man was the older of the two. Just as the first had been raised in the light this man was raised in the darkness, rejected by his own mother out of fear of how he looked. He was essentially on his own from birth. He knew nothing of love, but sadly learned much about hatred, fear and loathing. They were the only emotions that he had experienced. Everyone who ever had the misfortune to encounter him despised him. Yet, inexplicably, God had played even a crueler joke upon this boy than giving him his abhorrent face. He endowed him with many gifts, some of them unique. Over the years he has been called a genius even by his most implacable foes, but to the world those gifts meant nothing, they reviled his gifts as much as they rejected the man, perhaps even more. His mother was the first in a long line of people to revile him. She turned away in disgust from the moment of his birth. He had to mask his hideous face just to render it bearable to the rest of humanity, but it did not make it bearable to him. He started out innocent and trusting like any child, but as time went on he grew more and more bitter and hateful; despising God and man in equal measure, and most of all despising himself."

Christine interrupted again, "Do you have to describe him in that way? He had many good qualities besides for his hatred."

Raoul replied sharply, "I will keep your views in mind, darling, but I would remind you that I did not want to tell our children any of this quite yet. They are still far too young to hear such a disturbing story, particularly the Phantom's. It was you that insisted. If I am going to tell it then I will reveal everything about him, about all of it."

Christine looked at him in concern, "Everything?"

Raoul met her gaze sharply, "Everything Christine, just like you wanted; even the murders. If our children are to truly know everything then even those gruesome details must be revealed."

Gustave gasped, "There were murders?" He stared at his father in horror, unconsciously pulling away. "Why? Why would…"

Raoul interrupted and met Gustave's gaze fiercely, "Yes son, you heard me correctly, murders, cold-blooded murders."

He glanced uncomfortably at Christine and then at both of his children "Are you sure that you are ready to hear about this? If not we do not have to tell you this story just yet. I could understand why you might be afraid to hear the rest of this."

Meg told him boldly, "I am not afraid to hear about them."

Meg was an adventurous girl, who never shrank from anything. She was constantly exploring all sorts of dark places. Gustave was the more thoughtful and cautious of the two. He was gentle in nature, almost overly so. He had a very artistic and musical nature. In truth he was starting to wonder whether or not this story could wait after all. But when Meg volunteered to hear the story Gustave could not very well back away from hearing it, even though he might have agreed to wait, had she not spoken up. Murders are a very serious matter, and, as their father had said, this story might be too scary to truly be heard. Perhaps he did not want to explore his parents' past after all. What if the ghosts of the past did return someday as his parents seemed to fear? He did not want to be scared, but he now had to listen anyhow, or be regarded by his sister as a chicken.

"Go on Pere", he said tepidly, "It is too late now. You have already started to tell us."

Raoul gave his wife one last look and then began the story, " Fine, you win but you can still stop me at anytime you feel afraid. As I started to say before, it was a dark snowy night in Normandy, in a village near the shores of the Seine when a child was born. It was a breech birth, and so as the baby exited his mother's womb, the revelation of his hideous face came last. Perhaps, even then, he knew that his face would shock and cause him to be rejected by the world in return, which was why he came to show his face last. While the rest of him appeared to look like a normal child, half of his face was twisted and horrible. His skin was so thin that it barely covered his skull, which was visible beneath it, giving that side of his face the appearance of death itself. He had no hair on his head, which enhanced his skeletal looks, and none ever grew but a few weak stalks, not even when he was a child. He was pronounced an abomination by the all present in the room save the midwife; I will call her Sister Jeanne, who was a nun from a nearby convent. The baby's parents begged her to smother him but she refused, instead, she insisted upon calling a priest to baptize the unfortunate infant. Sister Jeanne did not expect a child bearing such a face to last more than a few hours or days, but she did not want the child's spirit to be condemned to hell. In the end it wouldn't have mattered because, it would have been a mercy to the baby. He was condemned to a living hell instead."

Christine interrupted, "How can you say that? It is not right."

Raoul snapped, "It is the truth Christine."

"You promised objectivity." Christine reminded him.

"I am being objective, Christine. It is true that if the babe had been smothered much suffering would have been avoided, and it might have been a mercy to all especially the child." Raoul replied.

Christine interrupted "But you…"

Raoul interrupted her and hissed, "You are worse than the children, because they have said nothing just as I instructed. I must ask the same of you. From now on, be silent as I tell this."

Christine sighed, "I will but what you said is not true. He was and will always be my angel of music."

"You know that it is true, Christine," he told her softly. "He caused so much pain, and received the same for much of his life it would have been a mercy. He turned back to his children, "Shall I stop?"

Gustave and Meg replied in unison, "No we want to hear it."

Raoul continued, "The father left the mother on the day that the boy was born, he claimed that his wife must have conceived the child in sin, because he could never have sired such an abomination. The mother implored her husband to stay, to believe that she had never cheated on him, but he did not believe her, and he left her alone with the boy. He never returned, igniting her hatred towards her son even more. She could not stand to gaze upon his monstrous face or care for him in any way; but, as the good sister had reminded her, it was her duty to raise him. Since she could not get rid of her burden and had to look at him, she made him a mask to cover his wickedly abhorrent face. It was his one and only gift from her, ever. Despite everything, she swallowed her disgust and reluctantly tended to him, although she constantly prayed for his death.'

'In time he grew into a strong and sturdy boy, more importantly, he reached every milestone of mental and physical growth more quickly and steadily than any other child of his age should have. He was speaking at six months, walking at five; he began playing the piano at little over a year old, and knew his letters at two. He would look at his mother and pray for her approval for his accomplishments; yet instead of being proud of her child, each new feat was only further proof of his monstrous nature. She believed his intelligence to be further proof of his demonic nature, and not even Sister Jeanne could persuade her otherwise. With every new accomplishment her hatred for her child grew only stronger. Yet he continued to grow both in strength and power and largely taught himself many things, through his voracious appetite for books, and toys. She did not give him any, but he would sneak out of the house and take them, even steal them if he had to. He had no moral compass because his mother did not care to teach him anything, not even morality. He knew not the difference between right and wrong, because to the one person, besides for himself, that was his world, he was always wrong and evil. Yet still he was a gifted child and learned anything that books could teach him. He loved architecture, magic and most of all music. Even then he wrote exquisite music but only for an audience of one, and she wanted no part of him.'

"You are a vile and disgusting creature akin to a cockroach. I should have stomped the life out of you at birth, and then I would not be this miserable creature that you made me. I was someone's wife once, your father was the most handsome man in the arrondissment, perhaps even the department, and I was considered to be quite a beauty. Now look at my life because of you, empty and lonely, oh how I wish that you were dead." She would rage at him scornfully.'

'Over time her terrible words weighed heavily on her son's soul distorting it over time. He could not help but to believe that he truly was a monster, and deserved nothing but death. He was just a little boy still, which was why her feelings were etched into his soul so firmly and seemingly immutably. He knew that his whole existence was unnatural and cursed. He grew to hate himself even more than his mother hated him, for she was his entire world, no one else ever came to visit. The townspeople were a superstitious lot, who wanted no part of the increasingly hateful woman and her vile offspring. Finally, somewhere around the age of seven, he had enough of his mother's words and ran away setting out into the world searching for a place where he would belong. Her endless hostility towards him had opened a deep crevice within his being that would not heal. His despair was so dark and black that he propelled himself away from her, taking his mother's prized yearling, Caesar. The horse took him far from what had been his place of residence. It had never been his home, for a home meant warmth and family. He had no family he was utterly alone. He never ascertained what became of his mother; from that point forward he never looked back. He never saw his mother again, nor inquired what became of her. He hoped that she would achieve her dream and forget about him, and the burden that he had been to her. Perhaps she found peace, but he would never know, it was too unbearable to look back and remember that even then he had been damned in the eyes of the very person who should have loved him, for it was love that he wanted more than anything in the world. Caesar became his first friend because only he did not dare to judge him for what he looked like, and his new friend carried him into the next stage of his life.'

'He had never been on a horse before but he was a gifted boy and he was able to ride him as far as he could get from Normandy, towards the South, intending on going all the way to Spain. He had read stories about the great Don Quixote and wanted to visit that warm country far to the South of Normandy. He did not make it very far when, to his misfortune, he ran straight into an encampment of gypsies, who upon seeing him alone, and dressed in decent clothing, immediately accosted him. At first they offered him food and shelter for the night. The boy was grateful, he was so innocent of human nature that he never suspected ulterior motives, but of course there were many. They had spotted his mask and wondered what it hid. They ended up keeping both him and his horse, for their own. The boy was no match for them despite his vast intellect and his great height for his age. They seized the boy and tore away his mask revealing the hideous face hidden underneath it. Some of the gypsies were aghast at the sight, but the leader of the clan was not. He knew right away that they had stumbled upon an attraction that was worth a fortune.'

'The clan stole his horse, and threw the boy into a locked cage, from which he did not emerge for almost five years. While he was a prisoner of the gypsies he became famous throughout southern France and Northern Spain, as 'Le Mort Vivant', or 'El Cadaver Viviente' in Spain. Many lined up for a view of his face, yet not a single one of them showed him even an iota of compassion. Despite his tender age they would throw everything that they could find at him, and laugh at his despair. Eventually the clan realized that they could make money even from selling various objects that they could use to hurl at him. People who did not even know him feared and hated him, simply for how he appeared. The clan would use their superstitions to incite them, they began to market him as 'The Devil's Child, as well and gave him an expanded role.'

'He would be displayed as such at churches, and offered up as a 'whipping boy' where congregants could line up and by beating him, and hurling objects at him, they could cast aside their own sins, no matter how great they were, and they would be bestowed on him instead. The boy began to believe that he truly absorbed their sins because why else would the world subject him to such scorn and hatred if it were not truly due to him? Also, the boy was not allowed to wear a mask to hide his hideousness from the world, not even when he was not being shown as a spectacle. Once when he tried to escape, he nearly succeeded, but when he arrived in the town near where the clan was camping to seek help, he was caught by a townsman and returned to the clan, like any other run away animal."

Both children gasped, "How could they be so cruel?" Meg questioned.

"How couldn't they?" Raoul replied. "He was seen by them as a monster, not a human being, and of course he believed it of himself." He glared at them, "But you have interrupted me once again, when I clearly instructed you not to."

"I'm sorry Papa, but this story is so sad. I feel terrible for…." Meg started to tell him.

"Leave your feelings to yourself. I do not want you to interrupt my narrative over and over again. What was done was done, and it was long ago. Long before you were born, before even when your mother was born." He added, looking at Christine.

"Please continue Papa, I will not interrupt again." Meg pleaded.

Raoul sighed, "Alright, but I mean it. Otherwise it is hard to keep track of my thoughts. Where was I?" he asked.

Gustave replied, "He had just run away and was caught."

"Well upon his return he was placed in even a stronger cage, and as punishment for his running they surrounded it with mirrors. They wanted to give him a continuous reminder of just how hideous that he was so that he would remember that he was not a human child but a monster. They told him that if he ran away again they would make sure that the other side of his face would match his terrible one. He never attempted to do so again, at least not for a very long time, but the mirrors remained and served their purpose. In time he grew to use them as entertainment for himself. From a distance he could see some of the other acts performing and would ape them until he too could perform them. He would practice in the mirror making various objects disappear, until he was a better magician than most of the magicians in the clan. Eventually they had caught him doing so, but they were not upset. Instead the clan provided him with props to expand his knowledge. They realized that his newfound talents would be beneficial to his act.'

'Over time they allowed him to learn even more, and his quick mind absorbed all that it could. Although he could not leave his cage, he did manage to learn the language of the gypsies as well as Spanish, Russian, Turkish and Hungarian, which were the languages of some of the other performers. He discovered that, like music, he had a gift for understanding languages. It was as if he were deciphering a code, he was able to unlock the secrets of almost any tongue that he did encounter. Many at the encampment were fascinated by his ability to do so, and would come by his cage to use his services, as a translator. By the time that he was twelve years of age, he had become talented in many spheres, and the gypsies began to develop a grudging respect for him.'

'In time they learned to accept the strange boy and he appeared to accept his fate. They even began to trust him and let him out of his cage, to mingle with the others. He was allowed to wear a mask, once again, which he fashioned from leather and they began to share some of the proceeds from his act with him in return for his cooperation with them. At first they had tried to beat him to get him to do more, but they decided that if they treated him more humanely they would get better results. They still watched him closely, for fear that he would leave them, but over the years as he earned their trust, he would be given more privileges. But he never forgot how they treated him in the beginning and his hatred of them never faded. He bided his time to make his escape from them. He knew that their leader would never let him go willingly. He made too much money for the clan to simply let him go. The clan hoped that in time he would realize that they could be mutually beneficial, and even gave him a tent of his own, but still he did not forget his hatred of them.'

'Yet, despite his feelings towards them he did eventually use his intelligence to enhance their other acts, by using the knowledge that he had acquired in books and such to design new sets, and other attractions. He used the mirrors from his former cage to create a maze that distorted the features and the size of all who entered. The clan grew richer by the day, due to the genius of the boy, who was rapidly changing into a young man. By the time he was fourteen years of age, he had begun to notice the girls in the clan, particularly one. She was a couple of years older than he was and she was very beautiful. He would look at her longingly, but she barely knew that he existed. He began to use his ethereal voice to woo her, yet never showed her his face. He would serenade her and she would respond by searching in the shadows for the owner of the voice. She would never find him, because he had learned to deceive others about where he stood by throwing his voice around. She began to go mad with desire, searching for the owner of 'The Voice' but she could not find him. He knew that if she did that his spell would end. Everyone in the camp had seen his face, and she was no exception. His suit would have ended before it had started; yet he could not help himself. He began to believe that somehow, someway he would win her love despite everything, yet a part of him always knew that his attempt would be doomed, for no woman could love such a face."

Raoul stopped speaking and glanced at Christine's face. He could see some tears forming in her eyes.

"So, you pity the monster after all of the evil that he eventually did?" he asked her softly.

Christine shook her head no, "No, but even though I know the story, I still find it to be sad. No one should have to live through all of that especially not an innocent child."

Raoul replied softly, "Well as you are aware, the world can be a harsh place. Not everyone can be blessed with your beauty, Mon Amour."

Gustave asked, "Did he get the girl? I have a girl that I am interested in, perhaps I should serenade her especially since I am not deformed."

Christine replied, "You are perfect. I am sure that no young girl would be able to resist you."

Raoul interjected irritably, "You promised not to interrupt."

Christine looked at him, "It was you who interrupted me with your question about my feelings."

Raoul smiled apologetically, "I guess that I did." He turned to Gustave and told him, "No he did not get the girl. Did you honestly think that he would?"


	3. Chapter 3

For my faithful readers, thank you for staying with me, I see that most of you who were with me for No Backward Glances and more are back. For new ones I hope that you will enjoy this story. Remember I love favs, follows and most of all reviews.

Chapter 3.

Gustave paused "It would have been nice if she had been sympathetic. Everyone deserves a friend."

"Even a hideous freak? Raoul intoned.

"Don't say that Raoul, that is not true," Christine admonished.

"Say what you might but in her eyes it was the truth. He was considered a monster, a demon from hell. The gypsies that he lived among were predisposed to intolerance towards freaks such as him, even as they made money from displaying him. They had no difficulty with displaying the hideous deformity to the world. The girl was no different than the other gypsies or even non-gypsies, she found him repulsive. She could not abide such a hideous man, no one could. The boy had no friends in the camp, even after he was permitted to live in a tent, and not in a cage like a circus monkey. When he found the courage to express his love to her, naturally she reacted with scorn, and ridiculed the fact that someone so hideous would ever believe that they had a chance with her. He was chastened, and not for the last time. He would receive nothing but disdain and hatred everywhere he went. Like you feared for yourself was a realty for him, he could never escape from his own face."

Christine decided to change the subject she was saddened by Raoul's description, "Perhaps we should tell them about the other side for now. Even though I have heard this story before, what happened back then was horrible and very sad. Can we move on to the de Chagny part of the tale?"

"Are you sure that you do not want to take over the story for a while? Perhaps the children would like another perspective," Raoul asked softly.

"No, Raoul, just as they said, you make the past come alive with your stories. You have that ability, I never have had the same," Christine replied.

Raoul sighed in resignation and observed, "No your talents are in the realm of music. He turned to the children "Perhaps we should write an opera together and let your mother be a diva once again. You have only heard her voice during the bedtime lullabies that she used to sing to you when you were younger, but it was a privilege to hear her sing. When she was on stage at the Palais Garnier, back in '81' she was immediately acclaimed as 'The Soprano of the Century'. Her voice was so pure that it could make the angels weep. One could not help but to fall in love with her simply from hearing her heavenly voice. I was one of them. Her voice captivated me completely, and I have been her humble servant ever since."

Christine gave Raoul a peculiar look, "Yes I was proclaimed the 'Soprano of the Century' but my voice did not reach the level that it did on its own. I did have the help of my angel of music. My father promised that an angel of music would visit me when he was gone, and he was right, an angel did come and taught me to sing."

Gustave interrupted, "Your father told you that just to comfort you. Angels do not just appear and help you like that, or give music lessons either. If they did we would all want one, myself included. As you know I struggle with math; if only there had truly been an angel, I would definitely ask that an 'angel of math' would stop by to teach me algebra."

Christine laughed, "You already have an 'angel of math'. Your father helps you with your math homework all of the time and has kept you from failing. We have told you repeatedly that you do not do well because you simply do not apply yourself to your equations. If you did apply yourself to all of your studies instead of playing hockey all of the time, you would undoubtedly excel. When my angel was teaching me, I had to become a servant to music, let it fill my mind. My angel was a great teacher, but he was very strict. He did not want anything to come between music and I, but of course, eventually, someone did," she remarked, while glancing at her husband.

Raoul met her gaze, "Yes, you were taught that; but Gustave is right, there never was an angel of music. He was only a man, and a broken man at that, but that part of the story will come later. Let me continue."

Raoul began his narrative once more, shifting his focus to the other boy, "The other Norman boy was born as a child of the light. Unlike the deformed child, the newest de Chagny received nothing but love and attention from his family. From the very beginning they wanted him, although he was not the eldest son, he was still a welcome addition to the family. From birth, he was showered with gifts and toys; his proud parents received felicitations from their many friends. They doted upon their youngest son and why wouldn't they? Their family had yet another noble scion to add to an illustrious family tree whose roots went as far back as Charlemagne himself. There had always been a de Chagny…"

"But Father that…." Gustave started to say.

"I told you not to interrupt Gustave. How many times do I have to say it? You may ask us any questions that you want to after I tell you the whole story. Is that clear?" Raoul asked irritably his eyes boring into his son's.

The boy looked away almost tearfully, "I am sorry Father, but many questions are coming to mind and I do not want to forget them."

Raoul looked chastened, "I am sorry son I should not have spoken to you in that manner, sometimes I let my temper get the best of me, as you well know. I do have an idea which might please us all." He turned to Christine and ordered, "Bring the children some pencils and paper so they might write down their thoughts."

Christine exclaimed, "That is a great idea! That way you both can save all your questions and practice some penmanship at the same time." She got up to find some pencils and paper and returned with them in hand. While she was gone the children snuggled more closely to their father. They were eager to hear more of their parent's story. Raoul enjoyed the closeness of his children and gave them each a hug. Although Gustave was beginning to frown upon hugs as 'babyish', he allowed his father to do so. Christine returned with some pencils, paper, milk and cookies. The children eagerly took the cookies and popped them into their mouths.

Christine laughed, "One would think that we are starving you in your eagerness to eat those cookies."

"Well you never give them to us in bed and we are afraid that you will change your mind," Meg told her.

"Well this is an exception to the rule." she pointed to the plate of cookies and asked Raoul "Would you care for one?"

Raoul took a cookie as well but looked at Christine in amusement, "You spoil us all, mon cherie, and yet I am not getting any younger, sooner or later you will fatten me up if you feed me too many of your delicious ginger cookies."

Christine sighed, "They are ginger snaps, one of my few memories from my early childhood in Sweden, and you are still thin, and in good shape, even with my so called 'spoiling' of you."

Raoul took a sip of the milk, and savored a bite from the ginger cookie, and began to narrate the story once again, "Ah we were speaking about the esteemed de Chagny family heritage. The de Chagnys, as you learned in history class, are and have been traditionally one of the more influential families in France. They were landowners, soldiers, sailors and government ministers. Of course the revolution, which took place one hundred years ago, decimated the family, as it did many of the aristocratic French families. Once the Bourbons were restored, the de Chagnys were able to return to France and influence French politics but never again did they rise to the same levels that they once enjoyed, because in their absence France had changed. She no longer looked upon her noble sons in the same way that they had before the revolution. Traces of the revolution remained strong, many Frenchmen still believed in Liberty, Equality and Fraternity."

Raoul paused and took a breath and continued, he could see Gustave and Meg both writing furiously.

He smiled at them and warned them, "Be careful, you may wear down your pencils."

Meg replied, "We have lots of questions, Father."

He turned to Christine, "Perhaps you should have brought two additional pencils and a lot more paper. Do you have any questions that you wish to ask?" he joked.

Christine smiled, "I believe that I know the story well enough, mon amour."

Raoul drew Christine to him and then continued, "Well, getting back to the relevant generation of de Chagnys. As I told you, the newest addition to the de Chagny line was not the oldest and therefore not the heir to the title of Comte. Yet, even so money would never be a problem for a scion of a family as wealthy and prestigious as theirs. The new Vicomte de Chagny had equally perfect brothers and sisters, and they all expressed adoration for the newest member of their family. He was doted upon from the moment that he was born, and he had parents, nannies and governesses to take care of him. They all loved him completely, and nurtured his every need. Despite the coddling his childhood was not all frivolity. In Europe the nobility have many expectations of their young, you need to ride, hunt, shoot and fence with an opponent, and do so with a certain amount of gravitas. There were other obligations such as learning how to run an estate, and obtaining a fine education at the Sorbonne, or the Ecole Militaire, if you are military minded. These families have been sending their children to these institutions for hundreds of years. When they were finished they were expected serve their family and country with dignity and honor. If one nobleman sullies their family name then it is a reflection upon all of them."

He paused for a moment and continued to explain, "France has its own pantheon of heroes. Who wouldn't want to be the next Charlemagne, St. Louis, Jeanne d'Arc or even the Sun King Louis XIV and of course Robert de Chagny? No Frenchman can forget him, how he routed the Angevins from Normandy and freed much of France from the Anglo-Norman invaders. Most young noblemen in France believe themselves to be capable of following in their footsteps and becoming the next hero. The de Chagnys were no different; given that Robert de Chagny was their illustrious ancestor they could only hope that they could maintain their proud traditions and step forward to continue to do some sort of service to their country. As I said growing up as a Vicomte meant that one had to constantly recognize their duty to their family and its legacy. But being part of such a family had far more rewards than duties. When you are a member of the nobility, people want to be your friend, and will go out of their way to cultivate you. Of course the de Chagnys had many such friends, therefore they did not need to go out of their way to find new friends. The children of their friends would mingle as well and as they grew into adulthood those friendships would become vital to maintaining their influence. Sometimes friendships can start in other ways, and where you would least expect it, like on a beach in Brittany where an unexpected friendship began between a scion of the ancient de Chagny clan and the daughter of an accomplished violinist from Sweden. "

Raoul glanced once again at Christine and then continued, "As you age, my children, you will find that there are certain moments in your life when the direction of your life changes course, and alters your destiny, and yet at the time you fail to grasp its significance. You both are too young to have experienced many of those moments but your mother and I have experienced many such crossroads in our own lives. I have come to believe that destiny finds you no matter where you might be. I am about to tell you about one such moment. A day with seemingly no significance yet it changed the course of more than one life, including your mother's and mine. That day there was a crisp ocean breeze on the beach at Perros, yet despite that, your mother decided to leave her cottage to play on the beach. Your mother was only seven years old and had already lost her mother when she bled to death following a stillborn birth. Since she had arrived in Perros she realized that she loved the sea. She and your grandfather had only recently arrived in France, from Sweden; they chose to settle in Perros to take advantage of the salty sea air in an attempt to heal your grandfather's cough. At the time they had not yet realized that your grandfather's life would soon be over as well. He had contracted consumption, a terrible illness that eventually kills most of its victims. Gustave Daae believed that he was tired from traveling around Europe, and that the salty ocean breeze would heal him. Perhaps it did delay his death for a little while and the short idyll there did lead your mother's life to take the path that ended here with you.'

'Your mother would play on the beach, and met several children who became playmates for her. On that beach it did not matter whether you were a wealthy Vicomte or a humble violinist's daughter, you could play in the sand together and cultivate a friendship with anyone. That fateful day was no exception. Your mother was busy walking on the beach when a strong sea breeze lifted your mother's red scarf right from around her neck and into the English Channel.'

Raoul continued, "You see her mother had knitted the scarf for her and it still held a trace of her mother's favorite perfume. When it went into the sea she feared that it was gone forever and along with it her last tangible memento of her mother. She started to cry, attracting attention from her de Chagny neighbors. Seeing her distress and wanting to help, a certain young Vicomte jumped right into the sea and rescued the scarf. There was no doubt all of those years of reading the classic tales of damsels in distress came in handy. In his mind it was a gentleman's duty to help your mother. So you see imagine if the wind had not been so strong or neither person was on the beach that day then your last name might be something other than de Chagny."

Meg looked at her mother, "Do you still have the scarf?"

Christine glanced at Raoul and then replied, "Sadly no, when we left France, we left everything behind. Until then, I had kept it, both as a keepsake of my mother and for sentimental value."

Meg replied, "I would have liked to have seen it. It must have been beautiful."

Christine looked at her daughter, "No Meg it was not beautiful to anyone but me. We were very poor since '_Far' _was only an itinerant violinist. Musicians, even good ones, seldom make decent money, but the scarf was of great value to me; at that time it was my most important possession. You see, when I was three there was a really cold winter in Sweden so my _Mor_ knitted that scarf for me with her very own hands. She wanted to knit me a sweater but only had enough yarn to make a scarf. That scarf was the last thing that she ever made for me; she died shortly after knitting it. I wanted to keep it forever," a tear rolled down her cheek as she thought about her mother and her lost scarf and other tangible remnants of her parents.

Raoul glanced at Christine apologetically while handing her his handkerchief, "I am sorry darling it is all my fault. I wish that we had had more time to get away, so you could have kept both your mother's scarf and your father's violin. I know how much you cherished both of your parents."

"I cherish you my darling just as much as I did them." She turned to her two children, "You two as well. You are all my angels. My memories of my parents remain in my mind, and as long as I can remember them, a part of them is still with me. I do wish sometimes that Gustave could have met his namesake. _Far _would have been so proud of him, and you as well Meg. You both are such good children."

"Do I have a namesake?" Meg asked, slightly jealous of her brother. Was I named after _Mor Mor_?"

"You are named for my best friend in Paris. She was practically my sister. She and I were as close as you and Matilde are now, perhaps closer since we lived in the same place. Her mother became my foster mother when my father died." Christine told her.

"Why do you never see her? If she was your best friend aren't you friends for life? Matilde and I took an oath that we would remain best friends forever. Did you have a fight?" Meg queried.

Christine laughed, "No darling, no fight, she is still my best friend but France is so far away and we lost touch with one another long ago. She most likely believes that I am dead."

Raoul mused, in regret; "I do feel bad about taking you from your best friend as well as your scarf and violin. Somehow, at the time, I should have found a way to let you stay in touch, and to retrieve your mementos of your parents. It was selfish of me back then not to understand your need to hold on to those things." Raoul told her. "Perhaps I was wrong back then when I wouldn't let you see Meg and her mother one last time to explain where we were going and why; even though you begged me to do so."

Christine shook her head in denial, "And open us up to betrayal? You were right to tell me to trust no one but you, mon cherie. At the time I did not understand, because I was too distraught to think after what happened that night, but you did what had to be done. As you said, the Girys could not be forced to reveal to anyone what they did not know. We have been safe here for all of this time and we owe all of that to you and your ingenuity at that time."

Raoul smiled at her words, "I am glad that now you understand my rationale back then. At the time you did not particularly want to see reason because of what we had just been through. You were much too overwrought."

Christine replied. "You were my rescuer, you saved us both and protected me from harm. I know that quite clearly now."

Raoul felt the urge to kiss his wife and possibly more, but had to suppress that thought since the children were there. It was one of those times that he had wished that they did not have children, but of course most of the time he was glad to have such a fine family. To his surprise he did not really miss France anymore. Home is where your family is, not necessarily where you were born. This place had been their home for many years, at least since Christine bore him a child, his first child, Gustave. A husband and a wife and nothing more, are not a family in the same way that a family with children is. When Gustave was born it cemented his bond with Christine eternally or at least he hoped so. He was still as deeply in love with Christine as ever.


	4. Chapter 4

Next chapter I will start thanking reviewers individually. I hope that this story is being read.

Chapter 4.

As the storm continued to rage outside of the cabin, Raoul got up to put some logs on the fire to keep the fireplace burning strongly. He had to go out for a moment into the swirling snow to retrieve more logs, but he was glad to have the colder air upon him to clear his head. It had been a long time since he had had to think about what had happened so long ago, and then to relay it to his children. He hoped that they would understand the decisions that were made long ago, by both him and Christine, admittedly there were a few actions that he might have wanted to change, but overall he still believed that they did the right thing long ago. They had been safe, and happy in this life, here in Canada. The horrors of the past had been kept at bay, and they could concentrate upon the future.

He returned with an armful of logs. It was a good thing that he had had the foresight to cut enough of them to keep the fire burning strongly. All these years in Canada had taught them how to survive the, often, harsh winters. The outside temperatures were well below freezing, but the family huddled together to share the warmth, along with their two family dogs, Labrador Retrievers named Tristan and Isolde. The two dogs had followed him outside as they always did. They were both very fond of him, as were most animals. When he and the dogs returned to the bedroom, both dogs hopped into the bed and made themselves into two round balls of fur. Both animals burrowed under the sheets displacing Raoul on his own side of the bed. Raoul naturally complained to the others that the bed was getting much too crowded; but in truth he rather enjoyed the coziness of the situation, except for the fact that he and Christine would definitely not be making love on this night as he had hoped. This night made Raoul think back to the night that Gustave was most likely conceived. It was a similar night to this one when they were still recent arrivals in Canada. In those days they argued all of the time, mostly due to their different views as to what happened in the lair that fateful night, and his insistence that they cut themselves off from their friends and family. She had reluctantly complied, but at a cost to him. At the time it had put a barrier between them that was almost insurmountable. Yet eventually a night such as this one had done the impossible and settled the anger that had existed between them. Gustave was born exactly nine months later.

Meg yawned. Raoul noticed it and asked her, gently, "Perhaps you and your brother would like to run off to bed. We can tell you more of the story another time."

Meg replied insistently, "No Papa, I don't want to wait. It was only a yawn. I am not ready to go to sleep. Please, tell us more about you, Mama and that other man."

Raoul looked at Christine and queried, "What do you think? Shall we make them go to bed?"

Christine smiled, "No we can let them stay up longer, obviously, there will be no school for the next few days, at least not for our children. Living this far out of town has been burdensome at times, but safe and cozy at the same time."

Raoul smiled, "It has been thirteen years since we arrived here, it is hard to believe how fast that time has passed by. If we had remained in France life would have been so different," he mused. Christine agreed.

Raoul turned to his children and met their eager gazes, "Now where was I?"

"You told us about Maman, and her scarf," Gustave replied.

"Ah, yes." Raoul replied thoughtfully. "Well you know the rest of her story about this time in her life. At the end of that summer her father died. Gustave's old friend, Mama Valerius, brought her to Paris to live at the famous Opera House. There she was expected to study dance and music. Mama Valerius was too old and sickly to take care of a child, so she wrote to her old friend from Paris, and explained to her your mother's predicament. Her friend, Antoinette Giry, agreed to allow it, and took her into her own household. She and your mother immediately bonded and to your mother's delight Madame Giry had a daughter who was almost exactly your mother's age. They too bonded, and eventually became best friends. Soon after her arrival in Paris, she made another friend.'

Meg cut in, "I know her angel of music. Did he go straight to Paris after escaping from the gypsies?"

"Yes it was him, but no he did not go straight to Paris. Remember, he was much older than your mother. Before I talk about him and her first meeting, we must resume his story where we left off. When we left him, he had just been rejected by the gypsy girl, and was determined to leave the gypsy encampment, yet the leader of the clan was equally determined that his most valuable attraction would remain. It had been seven years since the gypsies had captured him, five of which had been spent in a cage like an animal," Raoul explained.

Meg interrupted, "They were terrible people to do such a thing."

'Raoul looked at his innocent young daughter and smiled sadly, "Unfortunately Meg there are many such people in the world. In many places the strong will prey upon the weak, this was a classic example. But after seven years with the clan, he was no longer weak. He had watched them closely and knew everyone and everything about the clan who had imprisoned him. He had even made money by quietly listening to their conversations, and observing their trysts, and learning their deepest darkest secrets. Then he would blackmail them into doing his bidding. In time he became a secret power in the clan, amassing almost as much power as the head of the clan himself, and yet without the chieftain's knowledge. He had developed a network of spies and other 'helpers.' Of course he made sure that no one realized how many such people that he had under his thumb. He did not want the chieftain to be aware of his 'power' until it was too late.'

'He knew without a doubt that he would have to kill the man to gain his freedom, and he therefore bided his time, and saved the money that was given to him to maintain his discretion, until he had collected a small fortune in gold. He had enough funds to flee far from the clan, and far from France as well. He had lost any desire to remain in his homeland. It had caused him nothing but pain. He naively believed that there had to be some place on earth where they would not condemn him for his hideous face, especially armed with some gold in his pocket. Once that he was permitted to live outside his cage, he was able to tend to his horse Caesar, who had become the gypsy chief's own mount. He would feed Caesar carrots to maintain the bond that they shared between them. He knew that, once again, Caesar would be his way out of his captivity and propel him into freedom. This time he would stay clear of humanity, until he reached what he felt would be a safe destination, far from the clan and the pain that he had lived through. One night he was compelled to act, and his life changed forever."

Raoul glanced at Christine, for a moment, and continued, "That day he refused the chieftain's order to perform an extra show. He had been performing for hours and needed to rest, yet the chieftain insisted that he continue. He came to his tent with two goons to escort the boy to the performance tent. Despite giving him more comfortable quarters, the chieftain still did not view him as anything better than a horse or a monkey, or any other animal exhibit that he employed, except for the fact that he was more intelligent and uglier than all of them. If he could make more money from the boy's face by putting on an extra show he would do so without hesitation. The last show usually attracted the most unseemly crowd, the drunks, and the opium heads, who enjoyed nothing more than torturing him. This time the boy had had enough, and stood his ground. The argument began to spiral out of control. Before he knew it, two strong men were restraining the boy and the chieftain was coming at him with a knife.'

'The chieftain gave the boy a cruel smile and told him, "It is time for me to fulfill my promise to you and make the other half of your face as hideous as the other side. I will make more money from you yet. By the time that I am done you will not look even remotely human, monster."

'What the chieftain did not know was that one of the men holding him was deeply indebted to the boy. The boy glanced at the goon surreptitiously willing him to do his bidding. Naturally the goon let go of the boy's hand, just as the chieftain was about to disfigure the good half of his face. The boy used that moment to grab hold of the knife, and wrestle it out of the chieftain's hand. In confusion, due to the boy's unexpected move, the other man, who was holding him down, also momentarily released his hold upon him. It was the right opportunity for the boy to make his move. He was faster than all of them partly because he was younger than them, and faster, but also because he knew that his life and freedom were both on the line he secured the knife quickly and plunged it right into the chieftain's heart.'

'The chieftain fell lifelessly to the ground, and before the others could react, the boy grabbed his secret stash of money as well as a lit torch and lit his own tent on fire to make the clan too busy trying to fight the flames to look for him. A fire in the encampment would spread quickly since the tents and wagons were drawn closely together. He quickly ran through the smoke to where the horses were kept, and climbed on top of Caesar who propelled him as far from the camp as he could go before the others might be upon him. The boy was intelligent enough to find a small stream and ride Caesar for a while through it, further obscuring his tracks. He hoped that the clan would not look for him; after all, the likely new chieftain was a 'client' of his, who probably would not want to see his secret revealed. In fact most of his 'clients' probably wanted him either dead or gone, more likely the first. But he had relied on keeping them ignorant about who else that he might have blackmailed," Raoul paused and looked at his children who remained raptly attentive to his tale.

"It was his first murder but not his last. Do you think that he had the right to act as he did? To manipulate others by blackmail and even murder?" Raoul asked suddenly.

Gustave replied, "No of course not. They were taking advantage of him, and the chieftain deserved what he got. He was keeping him his prisoner, and abusing him. I think that he was very cunning to bide his time and make his escape when he could."

"But he killed a man," Raoul insisted. "Perhaps he should have just waited until the coast was clear and made a run for it before anyone was killed."

Christine interjected, "But the chieftain was terrible and did horrible things. If the chieftain were allowed to live he might have found someone else to exploit, or even recaptured his 'main exhibit'. Killing him was the best option."

Raoul looked at his wife and observed, "How you have changed, mon amour, years ago, you would never would have made that statement. I believe that at one time that you would have called what happened a murder. You would have said that he should have stabbed the chieftain to disable him, not to kill him."

Christine shook her head no; "I was young and naïve when I said that. Occasionally there is a time when killing someone might be justified. This was one of those times."

"So you would not condemn him for doing what he did?" Raoul asked curiously.

"No, Raoul. I do not condemn him for that. Anyone has a right to self- defense. This was clearly an act of self-defense"

"Even if the boy plotted to kill the chieftain before that?" Raoul asked.

"Even so," Christine replied quietly. "If it is true that the chieftain would not let him go then he had no choice."

Raoul turned to his children and lectured, "Do not think for a moment that it is right to kill unless you have another choice. Should you choose to do so the consequences could be worse than you expect. You could lose everyone and every thing that you hold dear. Death is a final state it cannot be undone. There is no going back to the state of innocence that you are born to live in once you have killed, even if you believe that it is for a just cause. That is why you must be very careful before you do it. This decision, although as your mother said it was justified, did have a lasting effect on the boy. From that day forward he believed that he could solve his problems by using murder as a tool if necessary. Remember, he had never known the least bit of love, or compassion, or even kindness, only hate, and violence. Humanity had rejected him from birth, and he had been told repeatedly that he was a monster. Those beliefs stuck and corrupted his soul even further than it had been. He would not seek kinship with humanity any longer, because he did not think that he would find it. He believed that violence was the only way that he could protect himself from harm. He had to protect himself like a feral cat, lashing out at anyone who dared to cross in his path. He knew that there was no room in his life for softer feelings, for, in his eyes, vulnerability inevitably lead to pain."

"I know Papa, you have taught me to use my head before using my fists, and I will try to do so; but I am not like that anyhow. You and Maman have always given Meg and I nothing but love. But I agree with Maman those gypsies were terrible, and their leader deserved his fate," Gustave averred.

"Well, just be judicious with your choices, my son. His anger did not do anything to improve his situation in life; it only made him more enemies. But of course for an intelligent man, he was not particularly knowledgeable about human nature. When you spend your first seven years alone in a house, with a bitter woman, and then an equal amount of time as a circus freak living in a cage, you do not exactly learn the niceties of human behavior," Raoul explained.

"Well, if it had happened to me, I would feel the same way!" Gustave exclaimed.

"Well, enough of this, getting back to his story, the boy did manage to escape the gypsies for good. Many of the clansmen were not particularly saddened to see him go, even if he did bring in a lot of money to the clan. He knew too much about how to sneak around like a ghost and learn people's deepest and darkest secrets; if he were safely gone, then their secrets left with him. He knew that some of the clansmen, would definitely prefer him dead so he rode furiously as if he had the wind behind him, with his gold coins in a pouch in his pocket. He rode east and then south, until France was far behind him. He travelled by night and slept in the woods, by day, or in barns whatever he could find. Although he had money he did not use it. Instead he stole what he could for himself and Caesar. He did not want to be seen by a single human being if he could help it. He did not want to be returned to the clan like the last time, and so he avoided any risks of being seen for a long time," Raoul paused and then continued.'

"After a time, he noticed that the countryside had changed. He had been in central France when he ran away but eventually he found himself to be in Italy. He found it beautiful and warm, and was fascinated by the Roman ruins there. Once in Italy he traveled first to Rome and then to Pompeii to study the ancient architecture in both places. He had read about both places years before when he had still been in his mother's house, and he had always wanted to see them. He could not believe how the structures had been built to last so long and studied their angles and method of construction. He decided to stay in Pompeii and hide among the ruins since there were so many empty houses that he could live in by night, when no one was there, and prowl around. He was not afraid of any ghosts of long dead Romans haunting him; he thought that they would make better company than the living, should they be real. At least a ghost would not exploit him as the gypsy clan had.

'No sooner had he settled in Pompeii when an archeologist working there discovered him. The man started watching him surreptitiously. He could not figure out what a masked teenage boy was doing at the ruins; he decided that the boy was surely up to no good. He did not want to call the carabinieri right away because he wanted to see if the boy had any accomplices, or perhaps some Mafiosi or other criminal who hired him to scour the ruins for relics. Mafiosi are criminal associations in Southern Italy that can be very dangerous. If you cross them they will kill you. The archeologist decided to be careful, just in case. He spent several evenings watching the boy and he was stumped by what he found. As he followed him, he saw the boy using tools to measure the ruins and take notes. The same tools had disappeared from an excavation site several days earlier and now he knew why. The boy was studying the structures but why? He seemed too young to be a professional of any sort, but no criminal would be using tools to measure things, and to do them so precisely. He finally couldn't stand it any longer and approached the boy, who immediately turned and fled. The man screamed 'stop', at the top of his lungs, and the boy froze in his tracks.'

"I do not want to hurt you, I just want to talk to you," the archeologist told him, but the boy did not understand what he was saying. It was clear that Italian was not his first language. The man switched to English and then French and then the boy understood.'

'The man approached him, and the boy looked like a frightened deer, ready to bolt. He knew that any human was a danger to him.'

"Wait, what are you doing here?" the archeologist asked.'

'The boy trembled, "I meant no harm, sir. I just wanted to study the city and figure out how the Romans built it."

"You are French?" asked the man.'

'The boy replied, "Yes I am."

"What are you doing here in Italy, you are a long way from home? Where are your parents?" The older man queried.'

"I have no parents sir, no family at all. I am making my way across Europe to get as far away from France as possible," he told the man.'

"Is that why you are wearing a mask, because you got in trouble in France?" the archeologist asked.'

'The boy flinched, "I wear the mask because I am ugly. If you saw my face you would not be standing here talking to me, you would have fled in horror, or tried to hurt me by now."

'The man replied, "It can't be that bad boy, if everyone who was thought to be ugly donned a mask, then half of the world would be covered by them."

'The boy shook his head, "You do not understand. I have a terrible deformity that makes me look like a monster. I am beyond mere ugliness; I am hideous. No one who has seen me could ever abide me. I am heading as far from France as my horse Caesar can carry me."

"What brought you to Pompeii?" The archeologist asked.'

'The boy shrugged, "I had no where better to go. I want to be an architect and wanted to see the Pantheon in Rome. It was so advanced for its day. When I was done in Rome I decided to come here. It is not as if I am in a hurry to get anywhere. It is not like I am wanted by anyone," the boy added forlornly.'

'The man apprised him, "You do not appear to be a monster to me, other than your half mask, you appear to look like a normal young man albeit very thin, when was the last time that you ate boy?"

"I don't know." He replied vaguely. "It is hard to keep track of time when I spend most of my time walking around in the darkness. I would guess a week or so."

"A week ago? How do you survive on so little food?" the older man asked.'

"I don't care about food, sir. I eat when I have to, when my body forces me to otherwise I do not bother," the boy told him.'

'The older man sighed, "Would you like to come home with me? I am sure that my wife Patrizia would give you something to eat. She is a typical Italian mother, she would not be able to stand to see a young boy like you starve."

'The boy backed away, "No, thank you sir. It is kind of you to invite me to your home, but I would rather stay here."

"Well this site is off limits to the public particularly in the afterhours. Understand boy, we cannot have people just traipsing all over the area. There is too much of a risk that something could be destroyed, or worse yet something could loosen and fall right on top of you and kill you. You wouldn't want that would you?" the man asked with a kind smile.'

"What makes you believe that I fear death?" The boy asked. "There is no one who would care if I died, not even me. Life is a burden to me."

'The man looked at the boy, "You are so young to have that sort of attitude. Life is a gift that you should cherish, not wish away."

'The boy pointed to the mask, "You would understand if you were to see my face. My death could be no worse than my life has been. I am not afraid for death to claim me."

"Well you cannot stay here in this place. You are lucky that I noticed you and not the guards they would have called the carabinieri and you would be off to jail."

The boy shrugged and put on a brave display, "I am not afraid of jail either. I spent five years of my life confined in a cage."

'The boy intrigued the man. He seemed so fearful yet was fearless at the same time. "If you are not afraid of death then you should not be afraid of either me, or my wife. We are far less fearsome."

'The boy answered bitterly, "Well you are human yes? The last time that I trusted a human was when I ended up in a gypsy camp where they offered me food. I ended up in a cage for five years after that and displayed like any other animal."

"I will not put you on display. I want only to help you." The man replied. "What is your name boy?" The man asked softly.'

'The boy looked at him suspiciously but gave him his name, "Erik, Monsieur."

'The man smiled, "A nice manly name but it doesn't sound French."

"My father was German. He was from Cologne," the boy told him.'

'Cologne, that makes sense then, my name is Piero Saraceni. I am one of the senior archeologists here."

"I know Erik replied. I have seen you work, you are the best archeologist here."

"Then you must know that I am a fair man, Erik," Piero asked gently. "Have you ever seen me try to harm any of my men?"

"No," Erik admitted.'

"Well then you should realize that you should trust me," Piero told him.'

"I trust no human." Erik replied.'

'The man sighed, "I'll tell you what Erik, either I call the carabinieri or you can follow me to my home. If you do come home with me I will bring you some food for you to eat outside, unless you would prefer to come inside and meet my wife. Perhaps after that you might trust me a little bit. Once you see that I mean you no harm you would be welcome to sleep in my stable with your horse. You can decide what to do, whether to trust me or not. In any event you cannot stay here. It is not permitted for anyone to live here."

'Erik nodded reluctantly, "Alright, I guess that it would be better that than jail."

'Piero smiled, "I knew that you would see it my way."

'The boy retrieved Caesar and followed the Italian home. He was still very suspicious but did not see as if he had any other choice, he could either follow him home and possibly enjoy his first meal in days, or kill him and bring down the carabinieri anyhow. He decided that he could always kill him at a later time, but if he did kill him he would never get that meal that he was promised."


	5. Chapter 5

Some of you seem to be under the impression that I am capable of deceiving my readers. When have I done such a thing? moi? Do you really think me to be capable of such cruelty? Well, on second thought, don't answer that. Only time will tell whether you are right or wrong but you definitely do all have active imaginations. Don't forget Christine did tell Raoul to fill in the gaps in his knowledge with his own imagination, I'm just saying… Ok so that does raise a second question that my Raoul haters would ask which is could Raoul have such an active imagination? I don't know could he? Well this chapter will continue Erik's story.

Thank you to Badasssyd, kitkat, MarilynKC, You Are Love, and TMara for your continued support. Mimi Pied, Guest and MissFleck734 I hope that you are still reading. Thank you for your reviews as well. Maria0789, welcome to my story thank you for all of your reviews. I don't think that I have heard from you in my past ones but I appreciate your support in this one. Judybear236 a special thank you to my beta. I had to ignore her past advice about putting flashbacks in italics, and she has graciously given me a dispensation. I think that it would be quite distracting to the readers not to mention me. I don't think that I don't know what I would do without you. All of you who favorited, followed or not made me aware of you thank you as well.

Chapter 5.

A rare bolt of winter lightning illuminated the room. It felt as if it had struck very close by. The children, suddenly even more alert, inched even closer to their parents. Raoul continued the narrative,

"The boy followed the archeologist very reluctantly. He was still frightened of humans as a whole, even if he had offered him food and shelter. No one had ever offered kindness to him in any way so he was wary of the price that he was sure that he was going to have to pay. He could not figure out what the man wanted and so that made him very apprehensive. He clasped his knife, the same knife that he had used to kill the gypsy chieftain, as protection. Life had taught him that only the strong survive, and although he did not fear death, his instincts still acted to defend his own life. He would never again allow himself to be exploited in the way that the gypsies had done. He was far from defenseless this time should the man turn on him in the same way as the gypsies had. He had no qualms about ending this man's life should he deem it necessary.'

'He mounted Caesar and was tempted to flee, Caesar was capable of carrying him far from there, and he had outrun others. But the thought of having a meal suddenly did sound appealing, since he had not eaten in so long, and to have someone voluntarily offer him such where he did not have to either kill an animal, or to steal for his needs was a luxury unseen since he left the gypsy camp, months before. Still he almost turned back when he saw the lights of a village before them. Large groups of humans usually meant danger for him. But the older man urged him on, and Erik reluctantly followed as he could feel his treacherous stomach growl hungrily.'

'_At least the archeologist cannot be a gypsy. Gypsies do not live in villages, they live in encampments,' he reasoned. _"How much further?" he asked aloud nervously.'

"It is only a little more my boy. Just a few more houses to go." Piero told him.

"To his surprise, a large old villa appeared before him. He had not expected the man to be so wealthy. He had watched this man before. His attire, and hands were rarely clean when he was working at the site. '_At least the man is likely a gentleman_. _He obviously does not need to use me in the same way that the gypsies did,' _he reassured himself. Yet on another level the quality of the house made the boy feel even more uncomfortable since he had not been in a house of that caliber since running away from home years before.'

'Although he had not lived in a home for years, he knew that the gentry did have certain manners that his mother had once instilled inside of him, but he barely remembered. He cringed in apprehension and the older man noticed.'

"You draw back, no need." The man told him. "No one will harm you here, I promise you that young man."

"I am not fit to enter the grounds of such a place, sir. I am a mere vagabond, no not merely a vagabond. I am the 'Devil's child', my presence here will bring you nothing but sorrow," he parroted as if reciting a mantra. In a way it was indeed his mantra, his mother had told him that over and over when he was younger.

'Piero stopped his horse and looked at him squarely with anger in his eyes. He was appalled that a child would be told something so ridiculous, "What ignorant fool taught you that?"

'Erik replied almost sullenly, "My mother. I lived in a house like this until I was seven years old. She told me that I brought the devil into her home to live with her. That I was Satan in the flesh."

"Forgive me for saying so, but your mother was a superstitious fool. A deformity is not a mark of the devil. It is simply a physical trait, like having a crooked back or a cleft palate. Your presence at our villa is no more an invitation for the devil to come than a handsome man is an invitation for an angel. You are merely a boy in need of a bath and a good meal, at least for a start," Piero observed.'

'The boy glanced into Piero's eyes, not daring to trust him, "You truly believe that?"

"With all of my heart boy. I am a man of science not a slave to superstition. I am a graduate of the University of Bologna, the oldest university in Christendom. I teach archeology at the University of Naples Federico II and sit on the governing board of the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli. You are clearly an intelligent boy, which is why I have offered you my hospitality to begin with. You must know that what your mother told you was wrong," Piero insisted.'

"No, sir. She spoke the truth. Everywhere I go I am met with hatred and disgust. I was used as a scapegoat by the gypsies, and was forced to take on and carry the sins of many on my back. People in churches paid my gypsy master good money to transfer their sins to me." Erik insisted.'

"Don't be silly boy, a man cannot transfer his sins onto you, like that. A man's sins belong to himself, and you are not old enough to carry many sins; you are merely a boy, how old are you? Thirteen, fourteen?"

'Erik replied, "Fourteen, and yes I have plenty of sins of my own, I have stolen many objects, blackmailed and I killed my gypsy master."

'Piero was clearly taken aback by the boy's admission, for a moment he regretted his offer to the boy, perhaps he was too dangerous to bring home, but he had promised the boy and he would keep it, perhaps he had good reason to kill, he decided to ask him before judging him, "Why did you kill the gypsy?"

"Because he kept me a prisoner for seven years and forced me to perform as the Devil's Child. One night I refused to perform in an extra show, after performing several times already. I was tired and hurt and the last show of the day was always the worst. People would be drunk and would treat me even worse than during the daytime showings. They would throw objects at me, such a glass bottles and laugh if they hurt me. When I refused to perform he drew a knife and threatened to mutilate me on the good side of my face to 'eliminate' my last claims to humanity. I seized the opportunity to take his knife from him, and killed him with it," the boy explained bitterly.

Piero felt relieved, "So you have killed no one else with it."

The boy shook his head 'no'; "I have let no man get close enough to me to try to hurt me. Mankind claims to be above all other 'animals'. A more sentient form of life but I find that the opposite is true. My horse here, Caesar does not judge me by my looks only by how I treat him, and I treat him well."

"You must not paint all of humanity with the same brush, Erik. I can see that you have been mistreated and therefore have a right to feel as you do, but not everyone acts in the same manner as those who hurt you in the past," Piero explained. "Give me a chance to help you boy."

Erik replied bitterly, "Help me? The last time that I let anyone help me, I became their slave. Why would you want to help me sir? What is in it for you to do so?"

"Because I can tell that you are very intelligent, and also because my wife and I lost our only child when he was only a few years older than you are now, our son Marco Antonio," the older man explained. "He too was a very intelligent child. You remind me of him."

"Marco Antonio, like the Roman?" Erik asked.

"Yes, exactly so, like the Roman. I have always admired my Roman forebears. They achieved a greatness that only now, in this century, we have begun to reclaim. As you might have noticed the Romans in Pompeii had plumbing in their houses, and in their baths as well." Piero told him.

"Yes I know." Erik told him. "They even had a way to heat water in their _Thermae. _They could take three types of baths the _caldarium, tepidarium and frigidarium _and even two kinds of steam baths in some of the greater _Thermae."_

The older man smiled; the boy's pronunciation of the Latin words was exactly what they should be, "Your knowledge is perfect, but how did you know all of this? Did you have a tutor?"

Erik shrugged, "No sir, I am self taught. I found books and read all about them, and I have explored the one in Pompeii, as well as the baths of Emperor Caracalla in Rome."

The older man smiled, "You are indeed a clever boy," he told him motioning for them to ride on the last few yards to the front of his house. Erik's knowledge of the Roman baths clearly reinforced in Piero's mind that while the boy had violent tendencies that he was also very intelligent. He would do as he promised. He hoped that Patrizia would not be mad at him for bringing the boy home with him. She always told him that he had a soft heart.

Piero called for a servant who helped him dismount and Erik as well. The servant took Caesar from him. Erik worried that he would lose his horse again, like before and started to protest.

"Giovanni will take good care of him for you won't you?" Piero told him.

"Si, Don Piero, I will take care of the signore's horse," he told his master in Italian.

Erik stared at the servant blankly as he lead the horse away.

"Giovanni is an excellent groomsman, you need not fear for your horse." Piero reassured Erik.

"I do not fear for Caesar's health, only that you will take him from me. He is my only possession of value, and he is my only friend as well." Erik told him.

"I hope that I might be your friend as well," Piero remarked.

The boy stood away from the man, still mistrustful. "I am not going into your house," he insisted firmly.

Piero replied, "It will be hard to bathe you out here and you most certainly could use one. I promise that it will make you feel better. I give you my word that no harm will come to you from entering my home. You have my word of honor as a gentleman." He reached out a hand to Erik as if he wanted to shake.

Erik only stepped further away, he refused to trust the man, "But you lied already. Earlier you promised that I would not have to go in."

"I did not lie to you. I would bring the food out to you, but you would be much more comfortable inside. Patrizia would welcome you most graciously. She loves children," Piero insisted.

"I am not a child any more, I am a man," Erik replied.

"If you say so, but you look young to me despite your height and your fearsome expression," Piero told him.

That moment one of the most beautiful women that the boy had ever seen stepped out of the house and spoke to her husband in rapid Italian. The boy understood some of it because he spoke both French and Spanish fluently, and a little Italian, and the words in Italian were quite similar to Spanish. The woman mesmerized him. Patrizia looked nothing like the bold Gypsy girls that he had known from the clan. She had an ethereal sort of beauty, like a fragrant rose open to its height of beauty and allure. She was at least twenty years younger than her husband, yet she was clearly very much in love with him. The couple exchanged glances, which to the boy, looked almost to be a secret language of sorts between them, so strong was their bond of love.

At last, Piero introduced Erik, speaking to his wife in French, "This is Erik, the boy that I spied the other day studying the ruins more intensely than one of my students at the University."

The woman scanned his face, her eyes widening as she noticed his mask but her expression remained open and welcoming. The boy was in awe of the woman. He had never seen such a stunning creature, and as he was predisposed to admire beauty, he could not help but to drop his guard.

"Would you like to come inside Erik? Our cook Gina has prepared a fine supper for Piero and I. I am sure that another place could be set at our table for you," she asked in fluent French.

The boy blushed, a woman of so much beauty had never addressed him before, "No Madame, I dare not do so. I am not fit to sit and dine with you."

"Nonsense," the woman replied. Her voice was stunning and musical in tone. "Is it because you do not know how to use a knife and fork? If so I can help you. I can cut your food for you."

Erik replied, "No, I know how to eat at a table. My mother taught me how." He pointed to his mask. "It is awkward for me to eat with this on my face, and I dare not show you what lies beneath it. I am hideous to behold."

The woman smiled, "Is there a food that you would feel comfortable eating with your mask on? Or better yet you can take it off. I am sure that you are not as hideous as you claim to be."

"I am worse, Madame. The word hideous hardly describes the horror that my mask shields from view. I would not dare remove it, especially not in front of a lady who is as refined as you. My mother was a woman of refinement and even she could not abide it." Erik warned.

The woman responded, "How about soup? Can you eat soup and we can cut your meat into small pieces."

The boy looked at the woman in shock, "You would still want me at your table when I have explained to you what I am?"

"Did you choose to look as you do?" Patrizia asked.

"No, of course not. Who would choose to look like me?" Erik replied.

"Exactly, now come inside, my boy. I will not let you stand outside like a stray dog, waiting for scraps. Do you know how to bathe yourself? If not we can find someone to do so." She asked.

The boy nodded, "Yes, I can bathe myself but I have no other clothes but the ones that I am wearing and they are dirty."

The woman glanced at her husband and then back at the boy, "We have clean clothing that we can provide you. Our son was broader than you but he was around the same height."

Erik glanced at her in disbelief, "You would give me your son's clothes to wear?"

Patrizia looked at the boy sadly, "Why not. He can no longer use them." She had a note of melancholy in her voice as she spoke.

Her husband looked at her in surprise. She turned to him and spoke in rapid Italian once again, "What does it matter Marco is not here?"

"I am just surprised amore mia, I did not think that you would ever let anyone wear his clothes," Piero observed. "His room has been like a shrine to him."

"As you said before this bambini needs clothes, and he has our Marco's look except for the mask. Why would he hide his handsome face behind such a terrible thing? It cannot be as ugly as he said that it is? The unmasked side is very handsome. Perhaps it is just ugly in comparison to the other." She remarked to her husband.

"The French can be so particular about looks and beauty. They are so superficial. I am sure that he is not as hideous as he claims to be." Piero admitted. "In any event we will not ask the boy to look at it. He must learn to trust us first. From what he told me he has led a terrible life. He was rejected by his mother from birth and then kidnapped and put on some sort of display by a clan of gypsies," Piero told her.

"Still, like a typical Frenchman, he possesses much charm." Patrizia remarked.

"Need I be jealous?" Piero asked smiling. "I am too old for you."

"He is too young, amore mia, but you are not too old for me," She told him with a smile. "You are still my only love forever."

She turned to the boy, "I am sorry we have been rude, speaking in Italian when you do not know our language. Please follow me inside and I will have a servant prepare you a bath, and then we shall lay out some clean clothes for you to wear to dine with us tonight."

Erik agreed, his objections forgotten at the sight of such a beautiful woman. It was right there and then that he started to wonder whether or not he could find someone to love him like Patrizia so obviously loved her husband. To live in a house with a wife, and a family like an ordinary man became his ultimate dream. Yet who could love such a man as him? He accepted Patrizia's offer because he would not refuse such a beautiful woman. He cleaned himself up and found a fresh suit of clothing laid out for him. They were of a fine material, finer than he had ever worn before, even in his mother's home. The wool was soft and fine, unlike the rough clothing that he had been wearing which had often chafed him. The couple smiled when he came down to dine with them.

Patrizia remarked, "You look very handsome in that suit. It fits you almost perfectly."

Erik blushed at the compliment, "Thank you Madame."

"You may call me Patrizia," she offered. "And your name is Erik?"

"Yes Patrizia, it is," he replied.

"My husband tells me that you are very bright, and a learned child despite being self taught. Is that true?" Patrizia queried.

"Yes, I like to learn," Erik replied.

"What subjects are your favorite?" she asked.

"History, archeology, architecture, magic and music, especially music." Erik replied.

Patrizia smiled, "Have you ever been to an Opera? We have a fine one in Naples?" she questioned.

"No, but I can play the piano a little bit and I like to compose and sing." Erik told her.

Her face lit up, "I must hear some of your compositions. I am a great patron of the arts. If my family had permitted me I would have liked to perform in operas, but it is not a suitable profession for the daughter of a Marchese. Still I love to sing and play the piano as well. Your speaking voice is sublime Erik, the most magnificent voice that I have ever heard, it is almost hypnotic to listen to you speak. Your singing voice must be exquisite as well. You are most definitely a tenor."

Erik replied, "I do not know. I just know that only music soothes my soul. It speaks to me, as if it were its own language."

Patrizia smiled, "That it is. I must take you to see an opera at the Teatro di San Carlos. It is one of the finest in the world. Piero and I have a subscription there, and own a box, the finest in the house. It has the best acoustics of any in the theatre."

Erik looked at the woman with even more admiration, "Would you really take _me?_"

"Why not?" she asked.

He pointed to his mask, "Why else because of this?" he asked her bitterly.

"Does it keep you from seeing or hearing?" she asked.

"No, of course not," Erik replied.

"Then why should it matter?" she asked.

"They might stare at me, and draw attention to you for bringing me," he warned her.

Patrizia laughed, "And do people die from being stared at? I have been ogled many times by men in the past. I know that I am considered to be a beautiful woman. Do you find me to be so?"

Erik blushed once again, "Yes of course."

Patrizia turned to her husband and teased, "Perhaps you should worry after all the boy finds me to be beautiful," she turned back to Erik, "I do not care what anyone thinks, and neither should you. You may stay with us for a time and come with us to the opera. Would you like that?"

Erik could not refuse, he replied softly, "Yes of course."

Piero teased, "When I invited you, you did not even want to follow me home, and yet when Patrizia asks you agree to move in with us for a while."

At the time Erik could not differentiate between teasing and other speech, no one had ever teased him before; he turned to Piero and said rather bluntly, "I'm sorry, she is prettier than you."

Both husband and wife laughed. Erik just stared back blankly.

Piero brought the boy with him to Pompeii everyday and eventually let him help with the excavations. He also introduced him to several architectural professors at the university where he taught and the boy eagerly absorbed whatever they could teach him. He was not a student there, he was far too young, but he would show his work to the professors, who did exclaim to Piero that they had never had the honor to meet a more gifted student. The mask put many people off. He adamantly refused to remove it no matter what the circumstances; but despite that issue he was able to continue to learn, and study the ruins of Pompeii. Patrizia did as promised and took him to the opera. In his own mind he had never encountered anything more beautiful than the lavish operas performed by the company. His first opera was the premiere production of Vincenzo Battista's _Giovanna di Castiglia_ where he listened to the world famous diva Balbino Steffenone come out of retirement to sing. He found the music to be inspiring, and her voice sublime. From that day forward, opera became his first love, since he was sure that he would never have another."

Raoul paused and continued, Physically he grew to an intimidating height far outstripping anyone who came across him. None who met him, dared to challenge him, because of his great height, and because he exuded menace to anyone who looked to challenge him. In truth only in the beginning did any seek to challenge him, and only when Piero's back was turned but he quickly brought to heel any that dared to try. He made no friends among the persons that worked at the site, and he did not care to. He was still wary of must human contact, and maintained a relationship only with those that he perceived as someone who could teach him something and the Saracenis. But like any respite in his otherwise harsh existence, this one was bound to end, and of course it did not end well. The couple's intentions towards him were good enough; but good intentions did not stop fate's hand from slapping him down into the gutter once again."

Raoul paused, and he felt that his children were growing ever more weary, "Would you like me to stop and we can put you to bed? He offered. The storm has calmed down."

Gustave yawned, "No Father. I am fine, and so is Meg, aren't you Meg?"

She did not answer as she had fallen asleep.

Christine smiled, and told Gustave, "We will be trapped in here for several more days anyhow. We will continue the story tomorrow. Tonight you both need some sleep."

Gustave turned to his father, "Do you promise to resume the story tomorrow?"

Raoul replied with a smile, "Have you ever known me to renege on a promise?"

"No, Father, you never have," Gustave admitted.

" Well I will not here. Look at your sister she is out like a light." He observed, then he picked up her light limp body and carried it from the room, she barely stirred. He placed her on her own bed and tucked her in, giving her a gentle kiss on her brow.

In the meantime, Christine was in Gustave's room and gave him a kiss goodnight.

"I cannot imagine surviving such a harsh life can you Maman?" Gustave asked.

Christine kissed him on the forehead and then replied softly, "No I cannot. Thankfully you have known nothing but love, but as we have taught you, the world is full of people less fortunate than we are. You must never forget that lesson no matter what life might bring you, darling. I have always told you, never judge a book by its cover. In the past I did and it brought grief to more than one person."

"Yes of course mother. I know that. How could I not? Just as you say, all of us are the same inside." Gustave replied.

Raoul watched quietly as his wife put their son to bed. He smiled, most nights these days Gustave eschewed being put to bed by them. He was no longer a small child but getting closer to manhood and did not need them in the same way that he used to. But clearly the story had reminded him about how lucky that he was that he had parents who both wanted him and loved him. Not everyone was so fortunate. Certainly not the boy who was to became the Phantom of the Opera, or Christine for that matter she had lost her parents at a very young age. His children both had kind and caring hearts just like their mother. He felt confident that he and Christine had set both of their children on the right path. Hopefully they would never know the same darkness that had once beset both he and Christine. It is easy to feel safe, when both time and distance have kept worry from their door, but would the time ever come when their happiness and contentment would be swept away? Would the past ever come back to retake what peace that they had won at such a great cost? At times he still felt guilty about the price that they paid, and yet not guilty enough to change it. Would Christine have been more content if the past had gone a different way? Of course she had not expressed any signs of discontentment for many years, only complete happiness. So why did he still occasionally wonder whether or not their joy would last forever? Perhaps it was just in his nature to worry. Perhaps not. In their case the line between paranoia and true worry was especially thin.


	6. Chapter 6

This one is my least popular story since 'Love's Redemption'. Too bad because I really think that y'all will like this plot if you stick with it. It is like nothing that I have written before or, as far as I can tell, no one else has done it either at least that I know of.

Chapter 6.

Christine and Raoul returned to their bedroom where Christine put her arms around her husband and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. Raoul never objected to such shows of affection by her; in reality he loved them and any other form of gentle touch.

"You are doing a great job telling them the story just as you always do. I know that it is hard for you to relate some of this, but you really do make the past come alive when you speak. I am amazed at how you are largely able to keep your own views and emotions out of telling this story when I know that our past is a hard subject to talk about. But you really are a masterful storyteller. How do you do it?" Christine remarked affectionately placing her hand on his arm.

Raoul shrugged his shoulders and explained, "Well it is not that difficult really since much of it feels as if it happened to other people and some of it did happen to _him_, I have decided to pretend in my own mind that I am not speaking about you and me and him. I want our children to understand everything as objectively as I as is possible, so they may judge what happened with their own set of feelings and not with the views that we impose upon them. Our past is difficult, and all three of us made decisions that, at the time, seemed rational but proved to be otherwise, some of us more than others. Our children are still quite young and innocent in the ways of the world, so they may not be able to fully understand the past for quite some time, for that I am glad. In the meantime I would give anything to keep them as carefree as possible for as long as I can. Up until now, this place, this life, has been a paradise for them."

Christine smiled and placed another kiss on his lips, and then remarked, "As it has been for us as well."

Raoul once again enjoyed Christine's display of affection, but even so, he could not help but to ask what he continued to fear, "Do you ever wish that things had gone differently back then? Back in the lair?" He queried tepidly. They had not truly discussed the past in a long time and he half feared her response.

Christine replied softly, "Well of course I do, how couldn't I? I knew _him _since childhood. I have many regrets, most of all about what happened to him that night."

She could see her husband's face change into despair and explained, "But still I am happy that I ended up with you. I don't think that I would have been as happy if the past had taken a different road. I am content with our lot my love, and I do love you with all of my heart. Still I feel bad about _him_. He gave you back your life that day and freely gave me into your care as well."

He sighed and hugged her to him fiercely as if reluctant to ever let go again, "I am cognizant of that. And yet a greater gift could not have been given to an undeserving wretch like me."

She kissed him again, "You are no wretch my love, and you are far from underserving. You are the best husband that a woman could ask for, and a magnificent father as well. It is I who have received the greatest gift, that night, of you and our two precious children."

With his darkest fears relieved and set aside, Raoul responded to her words with a moan and then kissed her passionately. The storm outside had subsided for now and they fell asleep in one another's arms. The dogs settled in at their feet and they both drifted off to sleep, eventually, although separately they both thought about the past, and the decisions that they had made. In the morning their children awakened them, and Christine made them all breakfast some Swedish style pancakes with Maple Syrup that they tapped from the Sugar Maple Trees that thrived on their land. She made delicious ham and bacon as well, all of which came from their farm. They had adapted to their surroundings completely and had become excellent farmers. Raoul especially enjoyed working the land with his own hands. He found that it relaxed him and helped to exorcise any uneasiness that had followed them from the past. He found that hard work was the perfect antidote to all sorts of psychological maladies. There was nothing like raising your own food to make you feel good about your accomplishments. Christine, in turn was in charge of the vegetable garden, she would labor in the spring to plant them, and they would enjoy the fruits of her labor during that time of year. In the winter they could not enjoy the same variety of fresh vegetables, as at other times of the year, but Christine had learned to can much of what they grew, and she made some excellent homemade jellies and jams. Over the years, she had become an excellent cook; even so Raoul did not mind helping her with the cooking. He had always enjoyed creating some excellent cuisine even before they left France. As a bachelor he did not have the opportunity to exercise his talents in that area for anyone but himself. When he did choose to cook at the present time, Christine and the children loved it; which made cooking all the more enjoyable for him. It was pleasing that others could appreciate his talent.

When breakfast was finished Raoul thought that it might be nice for the children to play outside in the snow for a while. To get some sunlight after spending the storm in the darkness but to his surprise, the children insisted that he continue to tell them the story. He reluctantly agreed. They settled into a settee next to a crackling fireplace, a cozy place to begin again.

Christine insisted, "Tell them a bit about the de Chagnys."

Raoul nodded in agreement, "Well there is not as much to say, and clearly Raoul's life was much less disagreeable than Erik's, to put it mildly. To be a de Chagny in France was not that much different than your life here in Canada. There were no gypsies, or archeologists to speak of, just a quiet uneventful childhood and then, of course, there was the obligatory duty to join the French Navy, when one reached the age of majority. Raoul joined as was expected. While in the Navy he was given the opportunity to see the world, and explore such places as North Africa and Cochinchina and India, and even the South Pacific and the Arctic region. When a brave French soldier or sailor returned home after a long deployment, he would be treated as a conquering hero. Everyone would praise him for his service to his country. All of the de Chagnys returned home to a hero's welcome, and could have their choice of women to adorn their arms. It was not difficult to attract women to their side, they just had to wear their fine woolen uniform, and don their peaked cap at jaunty angle to one side, and stay abreast of whatever was the current height of fashion.'

'Fortunately for him he never had to suffer from the aching bite of loneliness and despair at his dark fate. His life was not dark at all but mostly joyous. When he was not at sea, his time was filled with balls, cotillions and gentlemen's clubs and of course going to see the famed Folies Bergeres and then dancing in Montmartre after dark. Taking girls on long walks and carriage rides on the Bois and tipping his hat to the other ladies and gentlemen that he would encounter there. Many a young Frenchman of good background would comport themselves in the same manner, and avail themselves of such entertainments. At least once Paris recovered from the war with Prussia, the collapse of the Emperor's regime and, of course, the Paris Commune. In the early seventies when the youngest de Chagny was still a boy, there had been a lot of upheavals in France. Many a good Frenchman lost either their lives or their fortunes or both, but the de Chagny family escaped relatively unscathed, little worse for the wear."

Raoul paused and then continued, "Once those trials were over, most Parisiennes wanted to forget the recent past. The denizens of the city just wanted to have a good time. Raoul de Chagny was more fortunate than his older brother Philippe because he was too young to march off to war with Prussia, but it did not mean that his time in the Navy was trouble free. There were still rebellions in Algeria and Cochinchina. Naturally, France continued to watch Germany with a wary eye. But his privations did not approach that many others in France had endured in the immediately previous years."

Raoul looked at Christine, "Your mother did. She was one of the Parisiennes who was not immune to the upheavals. She had to endure many of these privations herself, when she first arrived at the opera house. She did not have the protection of a title or money or even of a family to keep her safe. Only her new found foster mother and foster sister, and_ 'others' _who took her under their was not an easy time to be living in Paris. In the winter and spring of 1870-1871 the city had first fallen under siege and then was occupied by the Prussians. Most Parisians ran out of everything, including food, and fuel for their fireplaces. They had to start eating whatever they could find including their pets and their horses, and still they had to worry about stray bullets and shells and mass executions. Diseases ran rampant through the city as well, killing many in its wake, but somehow Paris survived. Your mother survived as well as you can plainly see."

Gustave turned to his mother, "So you had a hard childhood Maman?"

Christine replied, "Yes for a time, but we all did back then in those days, even the de Chagnys. Philippe, Raoul's brother, was badly wounded in the war. It was a rough time to live in France. Many times I wished that I was back in Sweden; but, as your father told you, my foster family and my angel helped me through those rough times."

"Your angel? I thought that your angel was in Italy?" Gustave asked.

"He had been, but don't forget the age difference between us. By that time he was back in France and well into his twenties," she told them. "Although he faced many travails before returning home."

Raoul looked at her and smiled, "Are you going to tell them that part of the story then? since you have brought it up?"

Christine replied, "Of course not darling. You are clearly the one who is best able to tell the story. "

Raoul replied, "Fine," he continued, "Well last night we left him living in Italy with the archeologist and his wife. For him it was a golden moment in his life, one he would recall with nostalgia for many years after. It was an island of calm in an otherwise stormy life. But as you grow older you will find that there are epochs in an individual life, just as there are in time. In his case the time that he spent with the Saracenis was one of rare peace and stability for him. But it was not destined to last. The seeds of its destruction were planted from the very beginning, indeed even before he had stepped foot in Italy.

You see, as I alluded earlier, the Saraceni's lost their only child several years before in an unfortunate accident. The boy had been an avid rider and hunter, and while he was hunting his companion's gun went off accidently and shot him. He died almost instantly. At the time both parents were completely shattered, especially Patrizia. Her son and her husband were her raison d'etre and now her son was gone. It is hard to lose someone that you love, but harder yet to lose a child. No parent either wants or expects to outlive their child, and the Saracenis were no exception. Of course while Piero had his work to fall back upon, Patrizia had nothing of the sort. She was a lady of leisure, and it was hard for her to face the emptiness that his loss had left inside of her every day. While Piero eventually returned to a semblance of his former life, she did not. Patrizia would walk by their son's room, which had become a sort of mausoleum to her son's existence and stand in the doorway half expecting to find him still within it, but of course she was greeted with an oppressive silence. She would brook no changes to the room, even when many advised that they get rid of his clothing, and other mementos of his existence to help her to better cope with his absence. Patrizia would not do so, she did not want to say goodbye. She clung to everything as if he were to be gone for only an hour instead of forever. Her attitude put a strain on their marriage but they were still remarkably close to one another. Their love had been so strong that even tragedy could not destroy their bond, but it didn't mean that life was easy for them. The part of her heart that belonged to their son could not let go, and rest easy.'

'When Piero brought Erik home he had no intention of having Erik remain with them; rather he hoped to feed the boy and perhaps let him stay for a few days. Then he intended on telling him that he had to leave and sending him off, not permitting him to go back to the ruins to live. But Patrizia's response to the boy was extraordinary, and it seemed that perhaps she had found new purpose in attending to the boy. She taught him about Opera, how to play the piano, to cook and appreciate gourmet meals and other useful activities. The boy bore a great resemblance to their late son, a similar build and coloring, of course their son did not wear a mask, but the mask did little to diminish the strong resemblance. Patrizia had always been more fragile than the average person, too fragile for her own good. It was not difficult for her to transfer her affections from her late son to the homeless boy given the resemblance and the boy's eagerness to please her. Erik also was happy with the arrangement; no one had ever offered him a home, or even the barest semblance of affection, there he was blessed with both. For a time he almost felt like a normal person.'

'He was half in love with Patrizia. She was easy to admire, for her beauty was almost too unearthly for this world. He found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss her exquisitely sculpted ruby red lips, and to see the same expression of love that she used on Piero instead turned on him. Do not think for a moment that he thought to act upon his baser impulses. He was grateful to Piero for all that he had done, and would never have thought to betray him in such a manner. Also he knew that she did not feel that way towards him in the least bit. In her eyes he was only a child; she was twenty years older than him. Even if the previously stated impediments had not existed the white adornment that covered half of his face still served as a barrier to all impulses that he might have had. His mask constantly reminded him that he was not worthy of the carnal love of such a beautiful woman. His self-esteem was so low that he barely thought himself to be worthy of life let alone love.

The mask also served as a reminder to Erik that he was too hideous to claim any woman, and for Patrizia, it served to shield her from the reality that the boy was not her son. In the beginning she understood that he wasn't without needing reminders. He was too crude to truly resemble her son, seven years of living with the clan had not taught him the ways of the gentry, and those that he had had prior to his time there had long since faded. She taught him to exude the manners, mien and tastes of a gentleman. Under her guidance Erik developed a life long love for the finer things. Patrizia would take him into Naples and buy him the finest woolens, silks and even realistic looking wigs to cover his bald head. She had a porcelain mask specially made fitted to better imitate the curves of his face or at least what they would have resembled had his face been normal. Yet paradoxically the more that she helped to improve Erik's look and manner, the more that she made catastrophe loom closer. Her mental state was very frail to begin with and she began to forget that the boy was not her own departed son. In her mind the two began to merge, and she no longer looked at Erik rationally and see him for who and what he was. Her husband noticed the trend and began to take the boy for longer periods hoping to stop the inevitable from happening. In the nine months that he had lived with them, neither Piero nor Patrizia had ever gazed upon the unfortunate half of the boy's face. Inevitably a revelation was bound to happen, and when it did the results were catastrophic for all involved.'

'That night, Erik was in his bed reading when he heard Patrizia scream. He had already removed his mask and wig not expecting to have to get up. Her scream was so loud that he forgot everything and ran to his benefactors' aid. Piero was lying on the floor unconscious, having passed out from a heart condition. Patrizia could not rouse him and feared him to be dead, which is why she had screamed. The sight of Erik both unmasked and without his wig rendered him unrecognizable, she was sure that some hideous beast had broken into their house with the intent to to harm them. When Erik tried to explain who he was she lost all sense of reality. She accused him of taking her son from them and raved on insanely. Both the shock of her husband's condition and the full hideousness of the boys face had broken down the last bastion of sanity in her mind. It was as if her son had died once again. The ruckus was enough to rouse her husband but he was too weak to intervene.

Finally, when a servant arrived, Erik fled the scene in horror. He stopped only to grab his mask and wig, and change into the rough clothing that he had arrived in. He took his horse Caesar and rode all the way to Pompeii to hide himself away until he could decide where to go and what to do. He was sure that Piero was dead, and felt even more distraught than he had been the last two times that he had been forced to flee. This time he had received some kindness and deluded himself into believing that he had been cared for for himself, and not because he had been a stand in for their lost son. His tentative trust was shattered, and his soul darkened even more, as he realized that he had been a fool. His self-hatred grew as well, because he decided that the Saracenis had betrayed him the worst of all. At least the gypsies and his mother had made no bones about the fact that they despised him. He could accept their hate more than he could countenance what they had done. Their hatred towards him was a pure emotion, one he could understand. He did not, at the time have the experience to understand more nuanced emotions, and so he could only see human emotion in black and white, love and hate, and he believed that Patrizia's 'love' towards him had turned to hate. He could not countenance that and thus resolved to flee the scene. He decided right there that as soon as the day was over and he could go away undetected he would ride away as far as he could and leave his betrayers far behind him. He did not know where he wanted to go next but anywhere was an improvement as far as he was concerned. To his surprise Piero showed up at the site near the end of the day, looking pale and wan and yet determined to find the boy. He called for Erik to come, and for a short time the boy ignored him, but Erik realized that he would not give up so easily, and so he finally decided to see what the man wanted and to tell him that he intended to flee forever.

When Erik emerged the two men stood eye to eye, with Erik's eyes reflecting his strong feelings of betrayal. Piero knew then that he had lost the boy's trust and that they would never see one another again. Besides, sadly he knew his wife would not allow for the boy to return, the very sight of his face repulsed her. She had told him that she believed that the boy had taken them both in, and used their feelings towards their dead son to gain their sympathy. She had not believed that any person alive could possibly be as hideous as the boy had turned out to be, and despite everything that she had once claimed, she even doubted his very claim to humanity. Nothing that Piero could say would dissuade her from this notion, despite the fact he reminded her that the boy had not even wanted to come home with him. He felt terrible for what had happened, and very responsible, for he knew all along just how fragile Patrizia was. Yet still even he had trouble remembering that the boy was something more than a hideous monster, just like Patrizia. He too wanted to send the boy far away for all of their sakes.

Every expression that Piero gave the boy reflected that attitude to the boy, adding to his feelings of both heartbreak and betrayal. Piero stood as far away as he dared do, finally handing the boy a suitcase filled with his clothing, as well as the bag of gypsy gold that the boy had kept in his room. The boy immediately rejected the clothing, he felt too proud and betrayed to accept their charity. He wanted nothing more from the Saracenis. Yet he did accept one gift from Piero because it suited him to do so. Piero had arranged for both the boy and Caesar to take a one-way passage on a steamer from Naples to Alexandria in Egypt. He gave Erik a letter of introduction to a famous French archeologist there, Auguste Mariette. Piero and Mariette had been friends for many years and the Frenchman was in charge of many archeological digs in Egypt. He was also the Director of Antiquities for the Egyptian government and therefore Piero was sure that he could find a place for Erik. Piero explained that Auguste would no doubt employ him given the fact that he had his glowing letter in hand. Piero could not recommend the boy more, and in the letter described how he felt the young man to be almost a son to him. He implored Monsieur Mariette to treat him kindly, and to continue to teach him the archeology, as he had no doubt that should the young man desire to do so that he would make a gifted practitioner in their field. Whether Piero was heartbroken to see Erik leave, we will never know, as the man has been dead for many years. He was not a young man back then and did not live many years past that time.'

'The boy and his horse did make the crossing to Alexandria and then on to Cairo, where Monsieur Mariette did find him employment with a fellow archeologist. But despite Piero's strong recommendation Erik only remained in Egypt for a short time. While there working on a site near the ruins of Tanis, he met a young German archeologist who persuaded him to go to Persia with him. A young Shah there was looking to modernize, and yet also wanted to unearth the glories of the past Persian Empire. The German recognized the young Frenchman's talents and wanted him to accompany him to Persia where he was told that the Shah in Shah would pay them well to excavate there. The Shah had sent a distant cousin to Egypt to look for the youngest and the brightest European archeologists working there and lure them to Persia by promising greater rewards than what they could find in Egypt. The German persuaded the Persian, a man named Nadir Khan, to take his young French assistant with them despite Erik's very young age. Erik was at first reluctant. He liked living in Egypt because the local dress made it easy to conceal his deformity.'

'He rarely had to don his mask since he eschewed all human company save the men that he worked with on the site. He usually wore a kuffieyah, or Arab headdress, which he wrapped around his face both to protect it from the frequent sand storms, and to hide his face from those who would otherwise look upon him with suspicion. During his time in Egypt he learned the Arabic tongue as well as some Turkish, adding to his grasp of numerous languages. Finally he agreed to go to Persia with Monsieur Khan, and the German because it took him even further from France than was Egypt. He was convinced that he would never again desire to live in Europe, with its old Christian superstitions. He believed that in the east he would find his place, as the Shah was reputably hungry for any Western knowledge, which could be employed to propel his country into the modern age. Monsieur Khan explained that even a relatively young European, as long as they had talent, would find a good place in his cousin's realm. He personally assured the young man that he would take care of him once he arrived in Tehran. He did not bother to inform Erik that while the Shah sought to modernize Persia that he would retain the old ways when it came to suppressing his subjects. He turned out to be very medieval in his method of governing and would brook no dissent from anyone in his domain. Once Erik was introduced to the Shah, it did not take the Shah long to realize that the young Frenchmen had many more talents than archeology. It soon it became clear that his other, more sinister, talents were the ones most sought after by the young Shah."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

Raoul hesitated in relating the story; he needed to collect his thoughts. He gave Christine a sharp glance indicating his hesitation to relate this part of the story. Earlier he had noticed the tears in her eyes as he spoke of what had transpired in Italy. She had heard it all before but she had found his account to be both eloquent and poignant. The children looked sad as well. He wondered what they would think about Persia, and struggled with how to explain it in a neutral manner. It was far from a neutral topic and not really fit for children, but better that they hear everything by choice and with his explanation then by others. Should their hiding place ever be discovered and the past were to catch up with them he did not want his children to find out what happened in the past from someone else.

No it was far better that they hear about all three of them now and in a neutral manner than taking a chance that it would never come out. The children had grown too curious about France. Unfortunately that night all three of their paths all crossed in the lair, as well as the Persian's. Poor Nadir Khan, a loyal friend to the end. He did not make it out of there alive. Perhaps if the Persian had never left his homeland, had never been forced to flee from his cousin, and friend he would still be alive today. But then a great many others might have lived if Nadir had never gone to Egypt to begin with. Why did he go when he was not even an archeologist? Surely the Shah could have found someone else more qualified to recruit Western archeologists to Persia, but of course the Daroga of Mazendaren had studied French, German and English, and knew Western ways better than most at court. He was a charming man, and could read people like a book, well at least most people. That was why he fit in so well with the French, later on, when he was an exile in France. Still Raoul was in the mood to wait a little longer before speaking about Persia, the story had not been told in years, and then only once before. It could wait a few more hours to unfold its wings and fly. He needed to explain it in the right way, perhaps even to convince himself one more time that the Persian's death in the lair that night was not in vain. He had vowed to make it count for something; it was the least that he owed him for all that he had done.

Raoul turned to his family and suggested, "Let's take some time off, and go sledding. The snow looks very inviting, and it might start up once again. We need to get out to clear our minds, and then after lunch I will tell you more of the story. It is a lot of work telling you our story."

Gustave replied, "Might I race you father? I think that I might be able to beat you this time without you going slowly on purpose."

Raoul shot him an amused glance, "You know that I let you win?"

Gustave smiled, "I have known since I was seven years old but I wanted to win at all costs so I used what leverage I had to beat you."

Christine laughed, "Well that was not fair. We will have to disqualify all of your victories since then."

Raoul shrugged, "I am glad that our son used what assets were available to him. Sometimes you have to be clever to win. It is good when you can outsmart your enemies so that you might live to fight another day. It is why humans can claim to be a higher life form. Mankind has survived due to its ability to outwit those creatures who are physically stronger."

Christine gave Raoul an amused glance, "You would teach him that? He will grow up to be more manipulative than you are."

Raoul replied, "Do you think so? I hope not. For some people manipulation is a necessary trait for survival. As you well know it can be a harsh world out there and sometimes you need to use whatever assets you might have at your disposal even if they may be underhanded. Honor is a luxury that only the very fortunate can make full use of; for others the question is not so black and white. In the end, human beings are merely intelligent animals. In nature honor would be a weakness to be exploited by the strong, that is why no other animal on earth employs honor as a concept."

"Yet for some people honor means everything," Christine opined. "The de Chagny motto is _Gardez l'honneur! Faitz proverount!_" (Preserve honor. Deeds will prove)

"Yes it is." Raoul admitted. "But only because the de Chagnys have had the luxury of falling back upon it. For some people displaying too much honor can lead to their doom. Our son should be taught how to behave honorably but he must know how to react when his opponent is not bound by the same constraints and have the ability to meet force with force if necessary. Our son will never be a victim of unscrupulous men," Raoul vowed.

Meg interrupted impatiently, she did not understand her parent's discourse but she did want to go down the hill by herself, Gustave was allowed to do so why not her? She was tired of watching from the sidelines or being forced to ride on her father's sled, "Can I go down on my own this time and join the race, like Gustave does? I am old enough to do so."

Raoul shrugged, "Sure. We will let you race. It will make it more exciting."

He turned to his son, "You asked for it boy, I will give it full throttle this time. He winked at Meg and whispered, "This time you shall win." He turned to Christine and asked, "Are you going to join the race as well?"

Christine smiled, "No I will go in and prepare our lunch I will leave our children in your very capable hands."

For the next hour they raced down the hill, suddenly Raoul cut in front of Gustave, allowing for Meg to win."

When they were at the bottom of the hill Gustave complained, "That wasn't right! You promised me a fair race so I could prove that I could beat you, but you helped Meg win."

Raoul laughed, "I promised not to let you win, and I fulfilled it. I never promised you anything about helping Meg to beat you."

Gustave replied irritably, "Well how do I know whether or not I could truly beat you?"

Raoul replied, "You already have beaten me Gustave, many times. It is a father's duty to take care of his children, even at the risk of his own safety.

Unlike honor, that duty does spring from human nature, and from most animal species as well. Most animals protect their young, even at the expense of their own lives. That is why you will always beat me Gustave."

Just then Christine called for the family to come in and change into something warm dry and then to enjoy their midday repast. When they were done, Gustave turned to his father and asked, "Are you going to tell us about Persia now?"

A haunted look crossed over Raoul's eyes for just a moment as he glanced towards Meg. In his eyes she was still a little young to listen to what took place in Persia but she would be told anyhow. He would have to find a way of explaining it without some of the more disturbing details. His children were both very intelligent and very mature for their ages but still what happened there was awful.

He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined those days and tried to find a way to begin, and then finally replied, "Yes Gustave I will tell you, but it is more than a little disturbing." He turned to Meg, "Are you sure that you want to hear this part? I know no way of making it less than terrible. This is not a fairy tale, it is real."

She smiled warmly, "I understand Father you know that you can tell me anything."

Raoul shot Christine one more glance and then continued the story,

"In the beginning, Persia was an exotic and magnificent place for the young man. Tehran was nothing like Cairo, which had been hot and dusty and in many ways uncivilized compared to the cities of Europe. Tehran had a backdrop of beautiful mountains, and warm and welcoming people. The Persians were known for their magnificent and fragrant gardens, which were filled with all sorts of exotic plants, and delicious fruit trees. His new 'patron' Monsieur Khan, who had brought him there, in addition to his other duties, was the Shah's head of his secret police. He had a beautiful palace in the heart of the city, close to his cousin the Shah's palace. He offered Erik a room there for his use since Erik was to be primarily in Persepolis. He also wanted to keep a close watch on the young Frenchman, who he found to be both intriguing, and dangerous. Even then he wondered whether or not he had done the right thing in bringing the young man to Persia. He sensed even then that there was something dark and sinister inside the man behind the mask. He was much too serious for a man of his years, and his eyes revealed layers of pain, and mistrust that Monsieur Khan found to be unsettling. He wondered if the young man had any goodness left inside of him. Was the Frenchman a poisonous snake that needed to be destroyed, or did he have redeeming qualities?'

'Monsieur Khan was a man who was used to ferreting out what sort of secrets lay buried inside a man. He was trained to understand various movements, and expressions and interpret them, but he could not see inside either the young Frenchman's mind or heart. He felt blind in the dark. He could not fathom what the young man's motives were for coming to Persia to begin with, but he was sure that it was not to explore ancient ruins, or to meet exotic new friends. In the short time that the Persian had known Erik he had realized his deep penchant for privacy. He had seen the mask and wondered why lay behind it, but made no move to force the young man to reveal what was there. He had a feeling that it was something horrible, but like so many who came before him and after as well completely underestimated just how cruelly distorted his face really was, and how damaged his soul had become. If he had he might have kept his original assessment of Erik. He might have understood that the world's cruelty had warped Erik assessment of both himself and the world.'

'At first he did not think that his assessment of Erik mattered, which is why he had allowed Erik to come to Persia to begin with. He figured that Erik would be out of his life quickly and working in far off Persepolis. Erik and the young German, Gunter von Kleiburg, were to set out for Persepolis very soon. But unexpectedly Erik was taken seriously ill with a violent fever and chills. He had never before been ill in his life not, even when he was exposed to the elements by the gypsies. But he was laid low by this disease, and could barely stand for several weeks. Von Kleiburg was forced to hire a new assistant and leave without Erik. Perhaps, if Erik had never fallen ill, he might never have met the Shah; but he did sicken, and it changed both his destiny and Monsieur Khan's with it.'

'Erik had recently turned sixteen and in his eyes he was now a man. By that time he had given up whatever aspirations that he once held to partake of love and friendship. He was convinced that both were a luxury that he would never own, and decided that he was better off alone and uncommitted to anyone. He vowed to never reach out to anyone else and attempt to find either sort of relationship. He no longer dreamt of having a woman of his own, or even living as a normal man among humanity. It was not that he did not still want that sort of life, but he knew that it was forbidden for him. Besides mankind had proven to him that they were undeserving of either his time or of any further efforts to ingratiate himself to them. He was far fonder of horses and dogs, actually almost any other animal, than his fellow human beings. Dogs and horses never betray their masters, but from his point of view humans, even the kindest ones, with the purest intentions were less trustworthy than most animals; and most animals that were evil, were made that way by their dealings with humans."

Meg interrupted, "I do love animals but I disagree, how could that be? Many people are kind."

Raoul gave his daughter a quick smile, "Sadly his experience with humans had all turned out horribly. He wanted no part of humanity."

He continued his narrative, "Not even Monsieur Khan's kind treatment of him when he became ill convinced him otherwise. Yet conversely Monsieur Khan had changed his mind about Erik. The Persian had come to believe that Erik behaved in the manner that he did because he had been ill used, and not because it was his true nature. He believed that the young man hid a kind and gentle nature deep inside his heart, but would not reveal it for fear of displaying weakness. Monsieur Khan was wrong. There was very little kindness and gentleness left inside of Erik, only hatred, a dark burning hatred for all of humanity. The hatred consumed him, like a white fire indiscriminately threatening all who attempted to come close to its flame. It was the only true emotion that Erik would let himself feel because to him any other emotion was both dangerous, and a threat to his survival. He let his hatred lead his way through the treacherous place that he believed the world to be. He would have little issue with killing any man that dared to threaten him."

Yet, Monsieur Khan disregarded the danger. Early on in their acquaintance the Persian discovered that Erik possessed an amazing intelligence for man of his age. Erik found a solution to a leaky roof issue that had baffled all that tried to repair it for the past several years. It had rendered a full one third of the Persian's residence uninhabitable, yet it took Erik only an hour to find the source. Monsieur Khan also discovered that the young Frenchman could perform the most amazing magic tricks, endearing him especially to the children of his household. Yet the Frenchman remained immune to all praise for his skills, he held no affection for anyone that he met while staying at the residence, including Monsieur Khan, who repeatedly tried to break down the barrier between them and find the real man inside of Erik. Despite a myriad of efforts, the Persian had met with little success in getting through to Erik. Erik would not allow it. Erik did know how to make himself useful to others, it was a survival trait borne from years of being on his own.'

'The Persian was someone that Erik did wish to cultivate, so he did treat the man with a certain amount of courtesy, giving the Persian at least a glimmer of hope that he might break through his facade. Monsieur Khan was a man of great influence at the court. He and the young Shah had grown up together, and had been childhood playmates. The Shah trusted him and favored him above almost all of his other courtiers. When they were younger the Shah had sent Monsieur Khan to the Sorbonne in Paris to study, so that he might learn the ways of the 'infidels' and bring them back to Persia for the benefit of Persian society. Thereafter Monsieur Khan's exposure to the West had served that exact purpose. He was able to lure many talented westerners to Persia to use their skills to modernize the country. The Shah was especially fascinated by the new railroads being built in the West, which cut down travel time considerably. Yet Monsieur Khan's education was not all positive from the Shah's point of view. Unbeknownst to his cousin the Shah, the Persian's exposure to liberal Western ideas served to change his own views of how Persia should be run. He liked the notion that in most western countries their royalty no longer held their subject's lives in their hands where they could kill them at whim. He thought it to be a more just form of government and felt that if such a system could be imposed in Persia that the country would modernize more quickly. But those were dangerous notions for anyone in Persia to have. In time his Westernized views grew to clash with the Shah's ideas but he had the good sense not display his new ideas to the Shah. He knew that his cousin would not be receptive, and would likely have him executed, despite their close friendship, should he dare express them."

Raoul looked away emotionally from his family and then turned back to continue, "Unfortunately he introduced Erik to the Shah and they found a kindred spirit in one another. The Shah had many enemies, and Erik had no great love for any member of humanity with the exception of children, who he found to be too innocent to have yet been exposed to the corruption of human society. The Shah had heard about the Daroga's new guest and bade that Monsieur Khan bring him to meet the Shah in his palace in Tehran. Immediately the Shah became quite intrigued by the masked Frenchman. To Erik's dismay he was compelled to remove his mask before the entire court, including Monsieur Khan. At first Erik resisted, but two guards grabbed him and pinned his arms back and then the Shah himself approached him and ripped off both his mask and his wig, revealing his hideous face to all present. They all gasped in horror, with the exception of the Shah. He examined Erik's hideously distorted face quietly and then began to laugh, uncontrollably. He looked at his courtiers who began to laugh at Erik as well. They did not dare to do otherwise. Erik felt completely humiliated by the Shah's gesture. It was as if he were the star of a freak show once again. He struggled against the guards, ready to kill the Shah himself for what he had done, but the guards held on tightly.

"Do not struggle Frenchman I mean you no harm. It is just that I could not permit a courtier even a foreigner the liberty of hiding from my view from behind a mask. You are incomparable. You look like Shaytoon's angel of death himself. You are positively hideous, doostam!" The Shah exclaimed to Erik in Arabic handing him back his mask and wig that Erik quickly donned to conceal his shame.

He turned to Monsieur Khan and questioned, "Pesardayi, what Egyptian grave did you violate to dig this man up from in your travels? He looks like a dead bald Pharaoh who has remained undisturbed for three thousand years. Did your education in the West include incantations to reanimate the dead?"

The Persian bowed, "Your Highness, the German insisted that this boy was the best assistant that he has ever had and I am inclined to agree. I have discovered that he has other talents as well. He is a great magician and architect."

The Shah turned to Erik and commanded, "Are you really doostam? Show me one of your magic tricks."

Erik turned to him, "I will do no such thing I do not perform tricks on command like a circus monkey."

The other courtiers gasped once more, knowing what fate one who refused the Shah generally met, but the Shah just laughed once again, "He is the one man that I cannot kill for disobeying me. How can I execute a man who is already dead?" he asked his courtiers.

He turned back to Erik and requested more graciously, "Please will you honor me with some of your magician's tricks? If my cousin claims that they are great then you must indeed be gifted. Nadir is hard to please."

Erik reluctantly agreed and the guards loosened their grip upon him. For the next hour Erik entertained the court. When he finished the Shah clapped enthusiastically and asked, "Are your architectural abilities as good as your magic?"

Erik boasted, "Better yet. I could build you a palace to rival the ones of the emperors of Rome. I have seen them first hand and have deciphered their secrets."

"Would you bet your life that you could do so? Or should I say return to your crypt if you fail me?" The Shah asked.

"I will not fail." Erik replied. His boast was augmented by his youth. He believed that he could accomplish anything given his youthful bravado.

"If I am not completely pleased, you will let me kill you in anyway that I deem it appropriate, no matter how painful or humiliating?" The Shah challenged.

"And if I build it and you do like it what will I get in return?" Erik asked with a challenge. The courtiers gasped once again at the Frenchman's boldness but the Shah did not react as expected.

"A kings ransom. You will never need to work again," the Shah replied with a smile.

Monsieur Khan whispered in his ear in French, "Do not be a fool, doostam. He will never be pleased."

"Then I shall build him something that has never been done before. It will be so grand and so unique that he will have no choice but to reward me," Erik replied.

"You do not understand my cousin doostam, please I beg you take your leave and go to Persepolis or better yet back to France. Do not accept my cousin's challenge. He is not like one of your Western Kings, he will have you executed in the most painful and humiliating way," he warned.

The Shah glared at both of them, "What are you saying to him Pesardayi? You should not speak to him in his kuffir's tongue."

Monsieur Khan smiled and answered in Arabic, "I am telling him that you are a great King. That your word is your bond; that should he please you that you will make him as wealthy as a Prince, oh magnificent Shahinshah."

The Shah smiled cruelly, "I thought that you were telling him that he was more beautiful than your late wife, although that is too accurate of a description since they are both corpses."

Monsieur Khan clenched his fists but of course had to ignore his cousin's slight, "I was describing your own handsomeness to him both inwardly and outwardly my King."

The Shah looked at his cousin and then at Erik and asked, "Is this true Frenchman?"

Erik lied, "The Daroga speaks the truth. He has convinced me to take up your challenge."

The Shah looked at both of them and then smiled, "You must design something that is as modern as what you have in Europe, yet still Persian in style. In the meantime it would also please me greatly if my cousin would take you under his wing and teach you how to serve me as one of my executioners as well. I believe that you would be a good one. Nadir has told me of your intelligence. I believe that you could help me devise some new methods of punishing those who would defy me. I would pay you a great deal of money to do that as well. I believe that just your face would be enough to put the fear of retribution in anyone who might rise up to challenge me. Would you accept that position as well? I would grant you your own household and title should you do so."

"Then I shall accept," Erik replied. Not knowing that he had just consigned himself to even a greater hell than before. He was not afraid to kill, if it would serve to give him wealth and power so that he could not be hurt ever again. He could hide himself in his own home, and never be at anyone's mercy again. Unfortunately he did not think out this matter very well because he had just consigned his fate to someone even more ruthless than the gypsies.

The other courtiers started whispering among themselves. The Shah had just granted this unknown hideous foreign man a very powerful position in his government. Many would not have been inclined to give such a young man authority over anyone or anything, but the Shah did not share their sentiments, after all he was the very same age as Erik when he ascended the throne as he reminded his ministers. Monsieur Khan spoke very highly about the boy's intelligence and qualifications and the Shah was inclined to listen to his cousin. He found a use for the young man in his court immediately, to terrorize them into submission.'

Raoul stopped and looked away, and then collected himself and continued, "Although brutal and uncivilized in many ways, the young Shah was a very shrewd man. He had already been on the throne for more than a decade. He was only seventeen when his father died. His father had been a sickly man and died at the age of forty. The Shah, Nasser, was his successor. While in some ways he was good for his kingdom and has been known to be an effective ruler, in other ways he was not. Like many despotic rulers, he had a cruel and capricious nature. Those who he suspected of not agreeing with him, or being apostates to his Shia Muslim faith, were put to death usually without even the benefit of a trial. He wanted to modernize his country, yet did not want modern ideas to permeate his country. Once employed by the Shah, Erik's role held similar paradoxes. He both designed and built great structures for the Shah, and yet within a short time became his most talented executioner.'

'At first, Erik reveled in the opportunity to both design and build great edifices, and was indifferent to his second job. If a man was judged to be a traitor he did not see a need for unnecessary formality in carrying out the Shah's wishes. He understood that a ruler could not be seen as being weak and saw nothing wrong in taking care of those who would act against him. He felt that he would do the same if he were in the Shah's position. At that time Erik was far from fluent in either Farsi or the Turkic language spoken at the court by the Turkmen Shah and his family. He did not understand that most of the men who he willingly executed upon the Shah's command were not guilty of anything other than displeasing the Shah in some trivial manner. He did not know that once they were killed that sometimes even their wives and children would be thrust into disgrace and poverty at best, in a country where they had even less power than women had in the West. In time he would learn and he would pay the price for his naiveté. In time he would rue that he ever had laid eyes on such a cruel and calculating ruler, but not just yet. Despite Monsieur Khan's words he believed that he had found exactly what he wanted and needed, a place of honor in the world. A position where his talents were both wanted and needed despite the hideousness of his face."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8.

Raoul had paused for a moment as if he needed to clear his head once again, and then continued telling Erik's story.

"At first Erik's duties were not too terrible. As they left the Shah's palace on that very first day Nadir turned to Erik and told him, "Please doostam, take my advice get on that beautiful black stallion of yours and leave Persia now. My cousin while he is, in many ways a great ruler, does not share your Western sensibilities. He will crush his enemies in any way that he can and in a most cruel fashion. In our culture if you are seen as weak you will be challenged, so Nasser must always appear to be strong. If you serve him and he perceives you as being a threat he will most likely destroy you. Right now you are young and from a faraway land, and do not even speak our language, so he will not see you as a threat, but I can see a power in you, a force that you will only master with age, and experience. Should you ever do so he will most surely seek your death. Leave Persia now, doostam."

Erik turned to the Persian with a cruel smile remarking bitterly, "Why do you pretend to care anything about me, Persian? I have learned a little Farsi since arriving here and I know that you just called me your friend. Why pretend to call me that when we both know that it is a lie. You care nothing for either me, or my safety. You fear me, which is why you want me gone from here. Thanks to your King, you have now seen my face in all of its hideousness. I saw you shudder just like the rest of the court when my mask was ripped off and my face was revealed. Why do you even ride with me when you know now that I am something less than human? Wouldn't you prefer to throw me out onto the street like a rabid stray dog, or better yet, put me out of my misery? Stop pretending to care about what happens to me and let's be honest with one another, you want me to leave because you are jealous of the fact that your cousin finds me useful."

Nadir shot him an apologetic glance. "Yes I admit that I shuddered upon seeing your face, everyone did, but it did not change my opinion of you. I do care doostam, and whether you want to acknowledge it or not, I am your friend. I admit that your face is quite terrifying to look at but I am not a superstitious peasant. It is merely the face that Allah in his wisdom has bestowed upon you. Yes, I also admit that your personality is far from welcoming and at first I did not like you, but I am a student of human nature and I can see past your false bravado into your heart. You are not a monster at all just a very troubled young man. I have the feeling that you have never had a friend, and I would like to change that. I offer you my friendship," he added while holding out his hand.'

'Erik spurned his gesture; he thought that he could see past the Persian's allegedly altruistic motives. Like everyone in his life who had come before, the Persian clearly wanted to exploit him in some way. He was sure of it. With that thought in his head he replied scornfully "I do not have friends only adversaries and enemies. I may be young but I know exactly what your so-called offer really is: a misguided attempt to win my trust so you might use me in some nefarious fashion. For what end I do not yet know, but others far more persuasive than you have pretended to desire a friendship with me, or even more; yet in the end they have always betrayed me, just like undoubtedly you would were I stupid enough believe your lies."

'Monsieur Khan turned to him with an indignant gaze, his pride had been pricked by the younger man's cynical words, "If you were not a young and ignorant foreigner I would kill you here and now right where you stand for both your arrogant words and for besmirching my honor. But I will let your insults go this one time because you are young and ignorant. You are making a mistake young man if you believe that the whole world is against you, just because you are ugly. I do not pretend to know what others have done to you in the past. You are still very young, too young to be so cynical, but you trust the wrong person. While I am a loyal friend of the Shah, and he and I have known each other from birth, you insult me greatly if you believe that I have any ulterior motives regarding my offer of friendship. All that I have done up until now is to try to warn you that our ways are not your ways, and that our Shah will most likely devour you. Take my warning as you desire but my responsibility towards you is over."

'Erik wanted to believe the Persian. He truly did. He would have loved to have a true friend, but in his heart he could never believe that the man would befriend him willingly and therefore he doubted that the Persian could have any motives other than bad ones. It was better for him that he not open that door up to start with, or at least that was the lie that he told himself to justify spurning the Persian's offer of friendship. Erik knew from the beginning that he detested the Shah. When the Shah had had his mask forcibly removed, Erik's first thought was to remove the Shah's head. But he was surrounded by unsympathetic enemies, who would likely torture and kill him on the spot if he dared such a thing. When the Shah made his offer Erik jumped at the chance to create something meaningful. It was not that he did not believe the Persian's warning, but even if the Shah were to have him killed when it was over, it would only be a relief. Death did not bother him, he was already half dead anyhow if his face was an indication of who and what he was. But how many seventeen year olds have the opportunity to create something monumental as a great palace? No that was a chance that he could not pass up. If he could create something exquisite that would withstand the ravages of time, like the ruins that he had excavated in Egypt and Pompeii, then his terrible life would have some meaning after all. His life and talents would not all be wasted, but employed to bring him a measure of immortality. He would and could create something of beauty. Something of so much beauty, that the Shah would have no choice but to reward him with power and safety, just as he promised. He had no doubt that he could force the Shah to do so despite the Persian's warning. Unfortunately he was young and arrogant and completely wrong.'

Raoul looked away with a troubled look on his face and then turned back to them and continued.

'The young man was a fool. If he had only accepted the Persian's offer of friendship and taken his advice, his life might have taken an easier path. The Persian truly had the best of intentions. But Erik trusted no one, particularly any one who appeared to treat him in any way approaching decently. In his eyes the Saracenis had treated him decently, and yet turned on him. He preferred honest men, men who openly treated him like a monster, and wanted to do him harm. Those men he could deal with in the violent way that he had been taught by experience to dispose of threats. That night he disappeared from the Persian's house, and stole several of his prized possessions to sell in the bazaars of Tehran. He did not see the dishonor in doing so, after all the Persian was very wealthy, and did not need everything that he had in his vast palace. Erik on the other hand needed some money to find himself a place to live until he proved himself to the Shah. He was proud of himself for his audacity in stealing from the head of the Shah's secret police, at least until the next morning when he was apprehended in a city park where he had chosen to spend the night. He was brought before the Persian, in chains. The Daroga had tracked him down with ease. Erik stood out easily on the streets of Tehran, and had no real place to hide.

When Erik was seated before him, the Persian ordered his men to remove the chains and then he told his men to leave them alone. Once again he addressed the Frenchman almost like a father would address an errant child, "Do you have sort of death wish Erik? Do you have any idea of what the penalties are here in Persia for theft? Our Sharia law would allow me to cut off your hand or worse. How then could you design a palace? Or work in my department? Do you want to become a cripple? If you needed money I would have gladly lent it to you. Now what am I to do with you? First you scorn my offer of friendship and then you steal from me? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Erik shrugged, "Do as you must. Do you think that I will care?"

"What in the name of Allah is wrong with you?" Monsieur Khan asked in frustration.

Erik pointed to his mask, "Do you truly need to ask? Everything," he added bitterly.

Monsieur Khan sighed, "You have so much promise boy, and you are as yet young. My son would have been only a few years younger than you if his mother and he had not perished in the desert when a band of thieves raided their caravan several years ago. Why must you make me do you harm when I have no desire to do so?"

Erik shrugged, "Then don't. It is not as if I will have another opportunity. I just wanted to find a place to go, and it seemed to be a good idea to rob you even if you are the Daroga."

"You never cease to amaze me boy, your audacity is outrageous," the Persian admitted. "I do not know whether or not to send you to jail or to laugh. Fortunately for you I still like you, even if you are a frustrating young man. Go now in peace, but you must report to me tomorrow. As a punishment, I am assigning you to work with a man who recently arrived from the Punjab region of India. He claims to be able to teach a man to kill with only a catgut rope, or even his hands. The Shah is interested in learning whether the man has some true knowledge to impart or is another foreigner who is anxious to take advantage of our Shah's deep desire for a better military to keep the English or the Russians from absorbing our country into their respective empires. Both covet our land. I do not have any officers to spare but I can spare you. Maybe working with him will convince you to leave Persia. I have heard that the Punjabi is a cruel taskmaster."

Erik smiled, "None as cruel as my old gypsy master who now lies rotting in a grave thanks to me. Do you honestly think that this Punjabi man will make me scurry back to France like a rat?"

"No", Monsieur Khan admitted "But I am hoping that he will keep you out of trouble for a while, doostam."

"Doostam?" Erik questioned irritably, "How many times do I have to tell you that we are not friends, Persian, and that I doubt that we will ever be?"

"As long as it takes to make you recognize that I am the only friend that you have here in Persia," The Persian told him. "Allah has given me the job of watching over you. To make sure that you neither cause trouble nor get yourself killed before you learn to use the many talents that he has given you."

"I don't care about your Allah, or any other deity that you humans would impose upon me. Your Allah does not care about me either. If he did he would not have given me this face of death." Erik told him pointing again to his mask.

"I am not so sure of that, doostam. Allah does not give us challenges that we cannot complete. I am sure that Allah gave you that face for a purpose." Monsieur Khan told him.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that? To accept my fate as a hideous monster with a shrug? Perhaps your precious Allah gave me this face to amuse himself by torturing the innocent child that I was. Maybe he is just as sadistic as your great Shah-in-Shah." Erik replied angrily, he looked around the room with a grimace on his face "If you do not plan on cutting off my limbs then I will go."

To his surprise the Persian handed him the items that he stole, "Keep them as my gifts to you. You are right, objects of wealth mean little to me now that I do not have my wife or child anymore. If I let you go you will either be back here to meet the Punjabi in the morning, or you will have cashed in both of these items and used the money to cross the border and go back home to Europe or further east to China. You know my preference."

"I will be here tomorrow Persian," Erik vowed.

Monsieur Khan nodded, "Yes you will one way or the other should you choose to remain in this city. Oh and one more thing that you should know in considering your decision. The Punjabi's art is limited to only a handful of practitioners, only nineteen in the world. Should you learn it, and you wish to be admitted into their society you will be forced to fight Sri Pervez Jalili for the right to do so."

Erik shrugged, "That does not seem so terrible, so I will fight him should I desire to join which I doubt I will care less."

Monsieur Khan shook his head 'no', "You do not understand, the society cannot have more than 19 living members. In Muslim numerology that represents the oneness of Allah, so it is considered to be a good omen. In order to be admitted you must fight to the death, either to be killed or to kill your teacher, there is no other path to joining it. It is the only way to prove your worthiness to be considered one of them. Also, since there are only nineteen of them and they are among the most skilled assassins in the world, it keeps their services in high demand so that they might command a high price for them. Sri Jalili is known to be the best of them. The Shah paid him a fortune to come here from India to demonstrate his art. Nasser would do anything to learn its secrets and train our most elite soldiers to possess them."

Erik turned to the Persian, "Is that supposed to scare me?"

Monsieur Khan replied quietly, "No somehow I knew that you would be interested. None of my men wish to work with him. They do not want to die in such a gruesome manner."

"I am already gruesome. I have no fear of this man. I have no fear of either killing or dying," Erik told him.

"That is why I am giving you the opportunity to learn from him. I believe that you are the one man that I know who might be capable of learning his knowledge and beating him," the Persian admitted, "Although I still prefer that you leave Persia for your own sake."

Erik was very intrigued by the concept of meeting this Indian and learning his art. He knew that should he master it, that he would be both safer and a man to fear. The next morning Erik gladly showed up to meet the Punjabi, and soon began his training with him. He started right after his return from Mazendaran where he had been looking at the site where the Shah's Palace was to be built so that he could begin to draw up his plans for its construction. Since neither man was needed in Tehran at the moment, Erik and the Punjabi soon moved to Mazendaran where Erik began to receive his training. At the same time Monsieur Khan was ordered to assume the position of Daroga in Mazendaran to keep an eye on both Erik and his new teacher. The Shah knew that the two foreigners were both very sly and not to be completely trusted. He wanted his most trusted cousin to keep an eye on them to make sure that neither man plotted to betray him.'

'After six months Erik was progressing at an astonishing rate, far faster than any man that Sri Jalili had ever worked with before. So fast that the master began to fear that the young Frenchman might soon be able to beat him. After a year of training Erik, Jalili resolved that he would force Erik to fight him prematurely, before Erik could absorb all knowledge of the art. He was not ready to die at the hands of the masked infidel Frenchman. In truth the man had no true reason to fear Erik. Erik had little desire to join his society, but he could see that the Punjabi man feared that he would. Jalili decided to force Erik into a fight so that he could kill him. The Punjabi sent word to the Shah that his young apprentice was ready to fight in front of him, completely unmasked, and that their fight should be shown as a spectacle. The Punjabi knew that the crowd would never cheer for the hideously deformed infidel, and that their cruelty, would most likely distract the young man even further. The sadistic young Shah loved the idea and eagerly awaited the appointed time of the match. The Punjabi did not inform Erik of any of it, but Monsieur Khan discovered the plot and risked his own safety to warn the Frenchman.'

"It is no longer safe for you here, doostam. You must leave here now. I have arranged for you to cross the Black Sea into Russia", he told the younger man.

"Why would I leave?" Erik asked in response.

"You understand that the Punjabi wants to beat you while he still can. He is afraid that you will challenge him," Monsieur Khan warned.

"Then, if he plots in such a way I will not run away in fear of it. I will have to beat him," Erik told him garnering all of the bravado of youth.

"But he is the best of all of them. You cannot win, and then you will die. I know how much you hate being a spectacle, if you flee now no one will go after you, not even the Shah. He will dismiss you as a threat and let you remain in peace wherever you desire" Monsieur Khan advised.

"I will not flee Daroga," Erik insisted. "If the Punjabi wants a fight then I shall give him one."

"But you shall be unmasked and vulnerable, in front of the Shah's court," the Persian warned.

"Wasn't it you who said that here in Persia, to survive a man should not be perceived as weak?" Erik asked. "How will I be perceived if I run away from this?"

"It will not matter because you will be far away where they will never find you. They will perceive your actions as those of a cowardly infidel but you will be alive and safe." Monsieur Khan told him truthfully.

"But I will know what I have done, and I cannot live with that. Have faith in me Daroga," the young man told him, "At least I will have one Persian rooting for me."

'The appointed time came, and Erik was summoned to Tehran. There he was forced to enter a specially designed ring where the entire court had been invited to watch the fight. They were expecting that the hideous young Frenchman would be quickly subdued, and killed, but they expected wrongly. In the short time that Erik had left, he studied the Punjabi closely and discovered his weakness. Despite the Punjabi's preparations to the contrary, the fight went the other way around and it was the Punjabi who lost his life that day, not the young Frenchman. The crowd watched in stunned silence as the catgut severed the Punjabi's head. To a man, including the Shah, they looked at the Frenchman in a different, even more fearsome light."

Raoul looked at his family and could see the shock in their eyes, but at the same time there was compassion there for the fate of the poor young man, who had been forced to fight just for the right to continue to draw breath in this harsh world. They had never been forced to fight as Erik had, and yet they could look upon his plight with some degree of sympathy. Perhaps it was because they had been raised differently, they had been taught by him and Christine to look past appearances to appraise the soul of the person that was underneath, or perhaps it was because they had such kind and gentle souls that had never known adversity, but could forgive those who had. Either way he was proud of both of them, and of his wife. Christine had come a long way since their days at the opera house, as had he.


	9. Chapter 9

I will thank you all in the next chapter. I hope that people are still reading, I did not get as many reviews, and I am spoiled. The more reviews the more inspired I am to write.

Chapter 9.

Meg looked at her father in a sympathetic manner, struggling both to understand horrors that he was relating to them, and placing them in the idyllic world that she and her brother lived in. Her innocence was real, a result of both of her parent's desire to let her hold on to it for as long as she could.

Meg looked at Raoul with a sweet expression and asked, "Father I know that you do not want us to ask a lot of questions for now; and that you asked us treat this like any other story that you have told us, but I do have a question that simply won't wait."

Raoul smiled back at his daughter, "What is it?"

"If that Shah fellow was so bad, why didn't his people just kick him out and let our Queen Victoria rule in his stead? She is a very nice lady who wouldn't hurt a fly. She already rules over half of the world, why not just add Persia to her domain and then she would treat the Persians nicely? She could be their Shah just like she rules over India as their Empress. She is a really good queen. In school we all sing a song asking God to watch over her and keep her happy and victorious. We have a picture of her on the wall of our classroom and she looks so nice. She reminds me of some of my friend's grandmothers. I am sure that she would not mind ruling over Persia as well then they too would have a good queen."

Raoul laughed at his daughter's solution. In her mind it was so simple, yet the world did not work in that way. In most countries you do not get to pick who is in charge, especially not there, where the same Shah still ruled with an iron thumb even now. He was an old man by now, perhaps he had grown more just with age, or then again perhaps all of his 'enemies' were finally disposed of, as he wanted.

"I am sorry Meg, but the world does not work in that fashion. Although the British do have designs on Persia, their aim has been mostly to keep it out of Russia's hands. They cannot just go in and take it, unless Russia should try and they feel a need to protect it, as they did Turkey back in the '50s. The Czars of Russia have always looked for a warm water port to position their fleet and Persia is very tempting for them. It is one of the few countries left in the Eastern Hemisphere that is not already under some European power's control. Also, if Britain tried to take it, then the Russians would feel the same way and intervene to stop it and there would be a new war between the British and the Russians. Besides, the Persians are a very proud people who revere their long history. They believe themselves to be more 'civilized' than we are and in a way they are right. They have been around longer than most other countries on earth, and for much of their long history they have ruled over an empire. They would not like to be subjected to our Queen's rule no matter how benign that she might be. They would prefer to remain independent and to keep their own Shah no matter how bad that he might appear to be," Raoul explained.

"But we are French and I don't mind being part of her Empire and France and England are historically enemies," Meg insisted, "That is what Sister Clothilde taught us in history class. It is the same class where we discussed the de Chagnys and their contribution to French history."

Raoul smiled yet again, "Yes but there are some even here in Quebec who would disagree with you. Some would like to rejoin France or at least have Quebec become our own country, free from English rule. In the past even Great Britain had some despotic kings, and it took Britain centuries to learn to tolerate beliefs other than those of their kings or queens. Even now, as a whole, there is prejudice in England against Catholics, Jews and Gypsies because they are of a different faith or ethnic background. The difference is that here, in the British Empire, we do not jail people for having different thoughts or ideas than our Queen. In Persia the very thought that someone has different ideas can be perceived by the Shah as a direct threat to his rule. At times he was right, his family took power only a little more than 100 years ago and they are not even Persian, but Turkmen in origin, which is a whole other people. Because his family's rule is precarious, he believed that he had to crush that threat before it crushed him so he did need to be strong to survive. His problem was that he was unnecessarily cruel and ruthless in doing so, when he did not need to be so."

"I wouldn't want to be the queen of such a wicked place," Meg asserted proudly. "I would have left the moment that I found it to be that way," she added.

Raoul replied, "Most people probably would have Meg, at least most good people. But when your spirit is full of hatred and anger it is difficult to see the world in the same way as someone without such emotions clouding their judgment. Unfortunately, when you have no apparent place in the world, it is easy to be seduced by someone offering you a position of power and pride, even if they are evil. Evil does not usually prey on the happy and contented, it preys on people who have no hope for themselves, and harbor no great love for humanity. It is a powerful draw for either the weak of mind or the broken of spirit. Evil does not always announce itself to the object of its seduction, but draws them in slowly and deliberately. It tempts that sort of person just like the smell of baking cookies or chocolate attracts you into the kitchen. In the beginning the person may even be made to believe that he is doing no harm, or perhaps he might honestly believe that he is doing something good for others. But make no mistake, no matter what the rationale that it claims when it succeeds in imposing on its prey. Like a wolf or a bear or any other predatory beast; in the end it will devour the soul of the person who it has seized control of, unless that person can recognize its true nature before it has the chance of doing so inalterably. Even then, once it has gained a foothold in a person's soul, it moves both heaven and earth to hold on to them. An evildoer must continuously justify that his path has some sort of benign purpose even when it is obvious that it does not. "

Raoul looked away out into the snow covered yard and closed his eyes as he let his mind wander back to a very different place, a land of great beauty and promise but much of its glory had been stained with blood, the blood of the innocent, who cried out, cut through the elapsed years. He could palpably feel their pain and his own soul cried out in torment, as he summoned the evil of that long ago time into his thoughts. Many years had passed and yet, even now, their terror haunted him as he recounted what had happened back then.

"Erik's victory over the Punjabi served to make him a very powerful ally of the Persian Shah, at least in the beginning. The Shah congratulated the young Frenchman on his victory, and deemed him ready to take on both jobs that he offered to him, those of chief architect and chief executioner. It gave him both the power and the notice that he craved so deeply. The palace that was under construction in the north remained the honey that drew him in, but designing executions was the project for which the Shah valued the most for him and he did not object. The Shah would continuously remark that Erik's corpselike visage, in and of itself was a clear sign from Allah himself that Erik had been fated from birth to serve as an executioner. He refused to allow Erik to cover his face with any sort of mask, lest his courtiers should find him to be less than terrifying to gaze upon. Behind his back he became known as the 'Angel of Death' and yet he did not care even about that as long as he were permitted to create the beautiful palace, near the shores of the Black Sea. He closed his eyes to the terror that he was being forced to create, because he craved the immortality that creating the palace would give to him. He hoped that it would withstand the test of time, just as the ruins of Egypt and Rome had done. As was requested, Erik would devise new and ever more terrifying ways of disposing the Shah's enemies for him, culminating in his greatest invention of all his torture devices, his maze of mirrors. The device was so terrifying that it caused its own victims to kill themselves rather than be subjected to it for a moment more. The Shah was pleased by it and lavished praise upon Erik for it, but the Daroga was silent when it was unveiled. Erik could not help but to notice that he turned away in disgust. Later on when they were alone Erik asked him what disturbed him. He did not understand what made the Persian look at it with such despair. It was, in his mind, more benign than some of his other devices, but the Daroga looked at it as if it were a tool of Shaytoon himself. He waited for the Persian's explanation and he did not hesitate to give it.

"You." The Persian replied angrily. "All along I have believed that you were essentially a good person who was forced by circumstances to do some distasteful things, but in the time since you have lived here, you have become as evil and twisted as my cousin himself. This machine that you have created is an abomination. My cousin will use it to kill the innocent, yet blame their deaths on their own actions and not his, exonerating himself from the sin of murdering those that he perceives as enemies. Worse yet than that, our religion teaches us that if someone commits suicide not only do they die here on Earth but also they consign their spirit to hellfire in perpetuity. For that reason, your maze is the most fearsome device ever devised by man. Should it serve your purpose, you have not just sentenced them to a corporeal death but to eternal damnation as well."

"Don't be overly dramatic Persian, it is a torture device and nothing more, and not even a particularly cruel one in reality. Do you honestly mean to tell me that Drawing and Quartering or crucifying someone or burning a man at the stake is more humane than my device? At least with my maze they have the choice of giving themselves a quick and humane death, the other techniques put the victim through extreme agony before facing death. Your alleged realm of hellfire is merely a superstition devised by your Ayatollahs to keep you under their heel. Some religions, such as Judaism, do not even believe that hell exists," Erik told him.

"If it is so mild then why did you devise it in such a fashion to begin with? Have you become so evil that you no longer understand what misery you are creating and abetting? Is that Palace in Mazendaran more important than your own immortal soul doostam?" The Persian pleaded. "I know that in your heart you are a good man. Allah blessed you with many gifts why not use them for good?"

"How many times do I have to remind you that I neither believe in your Allah nor crave your friendship, Persian? If you find me to be so repugnant why don't you try to save a soul that is more willing and worthy than mine?" Erik asked him bitterly. "I have lived in damnation ever since I was born with this face and I was innocent, what do I care for someone else's soul who is more guilty of wrongdoing than I was. These men are traitors? Why should I fear for their fate?"

"Because I still pray every day that you will turn your talents to good, and break away from the darkness that envelops your soul. You were not meant to be a bad person doostam. I still believe that even if you don't. Your amazing palace in Mazendaran proves to me that you are capable of using your mind to create things of immense beauty." Monsieur Khan remarked. "You are almost finished building it, when you are done why don't you leave Persia and build something elsewhere? Somewhere where your talents are not utilized to kill."

"Well thank you for that compliment on my palace. At least you appreciate something that I have built; but as long as I have power and wealth here I am staying. I don't care if I am despised by all because even if I were the kindest and most generous man in Persia they would still hate me because of this," Erik replied irritably, while pointing to his unmasked face.

In the four years since Erik had been brought to Persia, the Daroga had constantly, and to Erik's annoyance decreed himself to be both Erik's friend and conscience, yet in Erik's own mind he was neither capable of having a friend nor a conscience. He could not understand why the Daroga would continue to care about him, and attempt to get him to leave Persia, even as his influence at court began to grow. At twenty-one he was the third most powerful man in Persia, and most men did not dare to anger him. While he knew that he would never be loved or even liked, he enjoyed the feeling of safety that having power brought to him. He knew that as long as he remained useful to the Shah that the Shah would continue to give him wealth and power and they were useful substitutions for love, and respectability. Would he have preferred to be loved for his acts of kindness and charity? Absolutely, but with the face that he wore, he knew that such was out of the question. The Daroga did not walk in his shoes and therefore did not understand that he had no choice but to follow a dark and bloody path. As his cousin the Shah had observed to him, his very face was proof that he had been given such a fate because he _was_ death incarnate. He closed his eyes and his heart to all that he did, and rationalized that if he did not do it then someone else undoubtedly would. Persia was a bloody place, but it was a place that had accepted him. He could not and would not turn his back on it, just because what remained of his conscience was at times pricked. He was damned to hell, here on earth even before he had truly sinned. What right did anyone have to judge him when they could not even abide him? But still the Daroga insisted on forcing him to rethink what he had done. In hindsight, the Daroga had been right but Erik was too blinded by his hate and anger at his fate to deal with it.' His voice cracked as he explained Erik's state of mind, tears came into his eyes attempting to run down his face. Raoul was thinking about something else, he turned to Christine in despair.

"I can't go on speaking about that maze as if it affected someone else and not me. He did so much for us. We would not be here to talk about it but for him, and yet it was that blasted maze that killed him, not the one in Persia but the one that should have never been built. He was right, it condemns everyone's soul to damnation who has touched it, especially mine," he told her brokenly.

Christine touched his arm soothingly, "Please don't blame yourself as you have in the past. Nadir made the choices that he did on his own and not through any arm-twisting on your part. He thought that he could help to save all three of us that night from the unwinnable situation that had arisen between all of us. It was not your fault that you could not release him from the maze, it was too dangerous to do so and we might have died in his stead. It was he himself who told us to leave, that if his Allah permitted he would find his own way out. Either way he told us both to live our lives free from the guilt of having his fate on our conscience."

He looked at her in despair, "Yet you were blameless in all of it. You were taken against your will, and therefore had no part in what he did to help you. I, on the other hand, have everything to blame myself for. He never should have been inside the maze to begin with, had I taken a different approach that night, had that infernal thing never existed just as he said. It truly was an instrument of evil, just as it was originally back in Persia. It stole a man's soul and condemned him to hellfire, just as the Daroga said."

Christine looked at the children and told them, "We are done for the day. Your father is too upset to continue for now. We have all day tomorrow to continue this, but he needs to get this out of his mind."

Gustave turned to her acting older than his age, "We both understand Maman." He turned to his father, "We don't think the worse of you at all. As you and Maman both taught us, a man can change if he wills himself to do so. No one's fate is sealed in stone as long as their heart can accept their mistakes and strive to do better the next time around. Is that a lie?" he asked his father.

Raoul smiled at him, "No son, I still believe that. We can always do better if our hearts allow it."

Meg came up to her father and gave him a hug, "I love you Father," she told him sweetly.

Raoul looked down at his daughter and smiled, "I love you too little one."

His children's sweetness and capacity for love never ceased to amaze him. It was a miracle in its own right that something so beautiful and loving as his family had arisen out of the tragedies of the past. He could not deny that if it were the only way for his life to have the same ending that he would not change the past, no matter how terrible that it once was. Perhaps that was a selfish thought, because happiness might have come to him in a different way. But then if things had been different how could the same events take place that would have placed them in the same time and same place? Yet how passionately he wished that a few things could have been tweaked, Nadir's fate was one of them. How sorry he was for what fate had had in store for the Persian. He deserved better than a tragic death deep in the bowels of the Palais Garnier.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10.

Raoul could not continue Erik's story. He was too overwhelmed by the emotions that doing so had wrought. He retreated into his inner sanctum and closed the door gently. Christine called to him to come down and eat dinner but he was not hungry. The fate of the Daroga still haunted him after all of these years. If only he could have saved him that night, he would not feel these crashing waves of guilt and sorrow, which occasionally washed over him like a stormy sea sucking him in. All of his present happiness was paid for by the blood of others, far more worthy than him. Why did God choose to spare him at the expense of others? He was not worthy of this ending, he was not worthy of anything, he was not a saint only a sinner, and he was no angel only a demon. Yet despite who and what he was he had been blessed with everything that he once striven for, acceptance, a family and most of all love. He stared into the darkness seeking its comfort, as he always had. In the darkness he felt strong, the equal of anyone, the darkness could mask the worst parts of him and highlight the best.

Christine knew exactly what her husband was thinking. He occasionally had these bouts of depression, _'strangely it was this sort of mood that drew us closer back then'_ she thought to herself. _It made him appear to be more human than I had thought him to be, less dangerous and frightening. I knew then that I had been wrong about him, we both had been, Raoul and I; the real Raoul that is, not Erik the man who had assumed the Vicomte's identity. Erik was not the soulless beast that they had believed him to be, but a man, a broken man, who had chosen to imprison himself in his own cage of invulnerability rather than allow the world to see him as he truly was. Even she had once been guilty of letting his face determine what he was in her eyes, until one day she saw him differently.' _Gently, she opened the door, bathing her husband in a small halo of light. Just then he looked like the celestial being that she once thought him to be. She could see him sitting on the piano bench his head placed between his hands and he was sobbing.

Christine went to him and placed her arms around him firmly claiming him and clasping his thin but well sculpted body to hers. She gave him a loving kiss on his cheek and whispered gently "I love you Erik" letting the forbidden name cross her lips once again. She had not said it out loud for a long time.

She did not let herself use it often, even in the privacy of their home. It had been a necessity that they not use it, just in case. Early on they decided that it would be best to get into the practice of never calling him anything other than Raoul for fear of the name 'Erik' slipping out unbidden, endangering all of them. Accidents do happen in the excitement of a moment. This time they had been speaking of Erik and therefore that name was appropriate for the moment. Erik such a beautiful name, and a perfect name for the man who was her husband, Raoul did not fit him at all, not because he was not an elegant man, with regal bearing. In that sense he was Raoul's equal. He was an imposing man in both bearing and nobility. Raoul was too effete for him. She wondered how Raoul, the real Raoul, would have adapted himself to the often-harsh climate of Canada, to the lack of amenities that he had been born and accustomed to. Certainly not as she did. She had been born to live in a place like Quebec, a place that was not so different than where she had grown up, the small Swedish town outside of Uppsala, Vattholma, where she lived until she was six years old. Erik had adapted himself to many places and thus Quebec was no different for him than anywhere else, except here he was completely accepted, because he had not come alone, as he had in his other past places. He had come with her beside him. She was able to, first get herself accepted, by the people of the village, and then her husband. She slowly coaxed him out of his shell and gradually they became part of the town. Raoul's name and title also bought him acceptance, even though there were no people of title in a place as remote as this. People were still in awe of the fact that a French Vicomte had made his home among them, again it gave Erik a cachet that he might otherwise never have had.

Her husband dried his tears and then gave her a troubled smile, "Why do you love me Christine? I was truly horrible back then. I destroyed everything that I touched. People who we both cared about died because of me, and my selfish obsession," He told her brokenly.

She gave him a dejected smile, "No, they made their own choices Erik, none of it was your fault. I was angry with you when I used those words against you. I was angry both with myself as well, because wrongfully I felt guilty, in my own right, for continuing to live on after that night. For living when others were gone after risking so much to try to help me. You and I survived, but I have made peace with what happened and my own role in it, and yours as well, we both made some mistakes, horrific ones but things happen for a reason and it is my belief that we were meant to be together and to be happy. You must learn to forgive yourself as well. They would have wanted us to go on and be happy. It is the best thing that we could do to honor their memory, not sit there and mope and rue our own poor decisions."

Erik met her azure gaze with his own emerald one, and once again absorbed Christine's undiminished beauty. "You would have been his, not mine had you and he not returned after I let both you go. You would have been happy with him and I would have likely been dead, which was the exact fate that I had consigned myself to. I had been fully prepared to die, and was resigned to accept that fate."

Christine nodded her head in agreement, "Yes, I suspect that I might have remained his and not yours, but I would have loved him in a much different way; a calmer and more serene sort of way. Our love would have been more superficial, safer, not fiery and passionate like yours and mine."

Erik laughed for the first time since he had allowed himself to fall into his depressed mood, "You mean more boring. Saner?"

Christine smiled, "You bring out my more passionate side, mon ange. You know how to make me come alive and leave all behind. Only with you can my passions soar beyond the ordinary. You recognized that long before I did. You knew what I wanted long before I knew my own heart."

Christine found his bloated lips burning into hers, "Stop talking just kiss me over and over." her husband ordered, "Talking is not necessary. It ruins the mood. Sing for me my angel of music. You know how much I adore your voice."

"But the children will hear. They are not yet asleep, I only just put them to bed," she reminded him cautiously. "What if they hear our music? Is it really safe for us to sing together?"

"It doesn't matter as much now they know much of our story; that I am not really Raoul de Chagny. I will tell them the rest of our story tomorrow so they will know all of it. They are old enough now that they will not betray us. He will not find us through them." Erik told her, adding, "We do not have to hide our music from them either anymore since they will soon learn that I was once the Phantom of the Opera."

"Do you really think that it is wise to tell them that? It might be a terrible thing for them to find out that their father is a wanted murderer," Christine reminded him.

"And let them find out in another way? They already know that you were once Christine Daae, the star of the Opera Populaire. How long do you think that it will take for them to put everything together and realize that since I am not really Raoul de Chagny, and that I wear a mask, who I really am? You were right before it is time for them to know everything before they find out from someone else or even read about it in old newspaper clippings or even current gossip from Paris. You know that there are occasional Phantom 'sightings' reported even now, and _L'Epoch _never fails to report them and even rehashes the whole sordid story just in case there is someone in France who has failed to hear of it," he added almost bitterly. "Each time the alleged witness drawings of my face grow more hideous, it has already gone from half deformed to fully so, and I am deformed in body as well, and smell like death."

Christine laughed at the ridiculous claims, they had repeatedly done so together since they both knew that it brought them yet more peace and less suspicion because Erik looked almost nothing like the monster that they claimed him to be. The more distorted the description, the less likely that the real Phantom would be linked to 'Raoul de Chagny'. They had both enjoyed the articles about Erik written by the young reporter Gaston Leroux in _L'Echo de Paris_. His articles were the most creative. Erik vowed that if he ever did tell his story to the world that it would be Leroux that he would tell it to, but he was not inclined to do so. Unfortunately there were too many dangers lurking from the past to allow him to do so. One of those was the Shah of Persia, who as of yet was still in power there. Canada was far from Persia yet there was always a chance that he would be discovered living there, and even now several decades later, Erik still did not trust that the man would not find a way to have him killed. He had after all defied him by surviving the Shah's order to have him executed once the palace was complete. The Shah had never intended that he would survive, and gain the safety and riches that Erik had so desired.

Christine took her husband by the hand and to his amusement led him to their bedroom where they made love passionately. Erik's lips caressed hers warmly, and his hands expertly explored her body, as hers did his. After all of these years of marriage they had both mapped every aspect of the other's body and knew exactly how to make one another moan in ecstasy. Not like the first time when they were both virgins and it was almost an accident. This time, as always they expertly played the other like a well loved musical anthem extolling their mutual love. When their passion had been spent they fell asleep entangled in one another's arms in a perfect state of trust of the other between them, not even a small measure of discord between them, not now or hereafter, but it was not always that way. The road to their current state of happiness had been long and bumpy.

The next morning the children awakened them. Gustave immediately asked their father in a worried tone, "Are you feeling better today?"

Erik answered the boy's question with a smile, "I am feeling much better son. The past makes me get more than a little emotional. There is much that I would change about it if I could go back and do so, particularly my disregard for the Daroga's advice. I would have accepted his friendship immediately instead of being so suspicious of him. But unfortunately I had difficulty discerning friend from foe back then. In fact I viewed all of humanity as a foe.

"Given what you have told us, I can understand why you would regard humanity as a foe. Father, people were not kind to you," Gustave told him sympathetically.

"Yes son that is true, but it was not an excuse for what I did for the Shah nor for any other killings. My disregard for human life inflicted unnecessary pain on many people. I was a monster son in the truest sense of the word. I can no longer defend what I did, nor should you," Erik insisted.

"So you want us to hate you for what you did Father. I will not do so," Gustave insisted. "Whoever you were back then and whatever you did you are not like that anymore. I know how much you care about our farm animals, dogs and horses, and of course us, and even our friends, once they get past your eccentricity in wearing a mask they are all envious of me for having a father such as you. You do not seem like a monster at all."

Erik smiled at his son, "Thank you for that compliment my son. Even I feel distant from the man that I used to be, but it was not easy for me to change into who I am today. I would like to think that if my mother had accepted me, or if the gypsies had never kidnapped me, or if I had not been rejected again by the Saracenis, and then exploited by the Shah that perhaps I would have been a completely different and better man even back then; but I cannot blame who and what I became completely on my circumstances. That would trivialize all of my victims' suffering and I am not willing to let that happen. If the Daroga taught me one lesson it was that one must take ownership of their own misdeeds every bit as much as their good works. For much of my life I inflicted the pain that I received right back at others, and bore no responsibility for what I had done. I believed my actions to be just and not ill intended. If someone was hurt or killed by me then it was their fault not mine for ill-treating others or me. Yet I was completely wrong in my approach. Their wrongs towards me did not give me the license to do the same to others. I could not right their wrongs by punishing them for their actions any more than I could absolve myself for all that I did wrong, just by claiming my own status as a victim. That is too easy of an approach and just plain wrong. We must own up to our mistakes Gustave, and, if we can, right the wrongs that we impose on others for our own selfish acts."

"When did you realize that your actions were wrong?" Gustave asked.

"Some very soon after I committed them, even before I left Persia," Erik replied.

"Was it the Persian who convinced you that your actions were wrong?" Gustave asked.

Erik shook his head no, "No, it was a child, a boy little older than you. He was a beggar child, but I could see by the quality of his torn and stained clothing and his noble bearing that he was once a child of wealth. At that point he was living on the streets and I watched people rush by him, and look away for fear of looking sympathetic to him. At first I thought that, like me, he might have a deformity but when I saw his face it was perfect, in fact underneath all of the dirt he was a handsome child. I wondered what he had done to become such a pariah, when I looked at him, I expected him to run away and scream like most children and even many adults did when I passed them by with my naked and hideous face, but he remained exactly where he was and looked at me with a searing hatred that I recognized as my own expression whenever I looked in a mirror. By then I was completely fluent in Farsi, the Persian language and the Turkmen language of the court, my accent was so good that it was barely recognized as foreign.'

'The boy's name was Habib Sharif al Qajar, he was a cousin to both the Daroga and the Shah. He was, in fact, more royal than the Shah himself because he bore the blood of both the ruling Qajar dynasty and the dynasty that ruled before them. For that reason his father had lost his life several years before in one of Nasser's purges. His father was one of my first executions, he died in a fairly simple style compared to some of my later ones, just a quick snap of my Punjab lasso and he was gone. His eldest two sons shared the same fate; they were not old maybe sixteen and seventeen. Their mother became one of the Shah's concubines and his daughters were married to some of the courtiers. I was even offered one to keep and was admittedly tempted, but I knew beyond a doubt that she would fear and loathe me just like all of the women of the court did, and I did not want to subject myself to such humiliation, and so I rejected the Shah's offer, explaining that I wanted to marry a Christian girl. He understood and supposedly gave her to another in my stead. I could see the relief in her eyes as I explained my decision not to take a wife or even a concubine at that time. I also reminded the Shah that a woman would only distract me from my work on his behalf. Luckily both for her and for me he accepted my excuses. Behind my back I am sure that he probably thought that I did not like women at all. That perhaps my deformity had rendered me incapable of having such urges, but the truth was that I did not want to take a woman without her consent, and I knew that I would never have a chance of gaining the consent of a woman whose father I had executed.'

'Anyhow when I passed Habib in an alleyway looking so forlorn, I made the mistake of dropping a gold rial into his cup. He immediately flung the coin back at me and spat into my face. I reeled away from him in shock, dismayed by the fact that even a beggar child, who had been rejected by everyone, found me so odious that he would not accept my charity. He had a shard of broken glass in his hand and intended upon using it on me. I stopped his thrust easily. I was well trained by the Punjabi to move away quickly from any physical threat to me, this threat was no exception. If he had been a man, I would have broken his neck on the spot for his attempt on my life, but he was only a boy so I spared him. Still my actions were enough to break his arm. He passed out from both the pain and hunger, and thus I picked him up and carried him into my palace in the heart of town. I asked one of my servants to call a doctor so that his arm could be set, but they refused.

"Do you have any idea who this boy is?" They asked me fearfully. "If you are smart you will take the boy right back where you found him and go about your business before the Shah finds out that you have been harboring him," my servant Mohammed told me.

"No who is he?" I asked innocently.

"He is the son of a traitor. He was only spared by the Shah because the Daroga Nadir Khan convinced him that he should due to the boy's youth. Still his punishment was to be stripped of all of his titles and thrown into the streets like a stray dog." The servant explained.

"But why would the Shah punish this child? He is only a boy." I asked innocently.

"A boy who will grow up to be a man. That boy carries the blood of all three of the most recent Persian dynasties including the Shah's Qajar grandfather, Karim Khan Zand, the man that overthrew him, and he has some Safavid blood in his veins as well. There are some here in Persia who would rather see this boy be Shah than the current one, but if the Shah were to execute the boy, he would be seen in a bad light, as a child killer, so he spared him for now, until he becomes a man, hoping that the streets will kill him, but no one will touch the boy either way by either helping him or by killing him. To help him is to help the son of the Shah's biggest rival, a boy who has more right to the throne according to many than he does, but to harm him is to harm the boy who should be Shah, many secretly sympathize with him, and will leave food out where they know that he will find it. You will find no doctor who will help you set the boy's injuries as the child might be the last patient that he would treat," Mohammed explained.

"Since no one else would do so, I treated the boy I knew something about medicine. When he woke up he looked at me with the same hatred.

"Why would you help me when I hate you Frenchman?" He challenged me.

"Because you are just a boy and should not be forced to live on the street like a dog," I replied.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

I replied, "Of course. Everyone does. You are a Mirza."

"Was a Mirza, until my father and brothers were executed and my mothers and sisters disgraced. I am the last of my family thanks to you." He added angrily. "I have often dreamt of killing you, the so called Angel of Death. A man touched by Shaytoon himself, and used by the Shah as his instrument of fear and death," the boy told me.

"I am not an instrument of either the Shah or Shaytoon as you call him. I am a man just like every other man, except for the fact that I am hideous to look upon," I told the boy.

He looked at me with hatred in his eyes, "Yet you kill innocents. My father, and brothers despite their superior blood, did nothing against the Shah. On the contrary, my father urged us to obey the Shah, because he was a strong and powerful king who in time would make us the equals of the British, French and the Russians. He was glad of the improvements that the cursed Shah was making to our country and the effectiveness of his rule. He did not and would not have ever opposed him, but that was not good enough for the Shah, he still wanted us all dead or disgraced, but could not find anyone bold enough to harm us until you came along and did so."

I looked away feeling uncomfortable for the first time, "So your father was not a traitor then?" I asked, "I did not know, at the time I did not yet know your language fluently."

The boy replied bitterly, "No, very few of the men that you have killed have been guilty, only in the Shah's mind. The Shah treats everyone as a traitor even his closest supporters like my father, and you are his favorite instrument to do so. I heard that you even dishonored my sister Fatima, by rejecting her. It was said that she was so cursed that even Shaytoon himself would not have her. She killed herself because of you."

His words hit me like daggers through the stomach. I felt very much shaken, "No." I told him in despair. "I did not want to dishonor her with my vile face and hands that is why I did not take her."

"You are a vile beast both inside and out. You are a curse to this country," The boy insisted.

"I am sorry. I did not know," I replied.

"So you did not know that you killed my father and brothers and dishonored my sister?" The boy asked contemptuously.

"I did not know what had happened as a result. I was told only that they were all traitors, and I did not want your sister to be shamed by her association with me. I wanted her to have a better husband, a man not a beast. I did not speak your languages at the time," I told him trying to explain.

"It excuses nothing." The boy admonished, "Nothing at all. I demand that you return me to where you found me."

"But you might die if you are not properly taken care of," I told him.

"I will die anyhow, and I am ready for my martyrdom. The Shah has me marked for death the moment that I am old enough to incur his wrath and then you and I shall meet again, but I am not afraid of death. I shall be a _Shahid_ like my father and brothers. Allah will reward me in heaven. Take me back there now." The boy demanded, sounding every bit the King that he was born to be.'

'I did as he said and returned him to the spot, leaving a bag of gold coins in his pocket, and some food with him as well, along with bandages and other things. I never knew what became of the boy, I expect that he got his wish and became a martyr. Of course only a few days later I found myself in trouble over taking care of him, but the Shah did not openly tell me of the danger that I was in. He was waiting for me to complete my palace for him, before imposing his death sentence upon me. He knew that I was creating a marvel for him unsurpassed by any in all of the Middle East, and to his needs. I only found out his true intent for me, when Monsieur Khan stepped in to save me from what the Shah had in store for me."


	11. Chapter 11

Was any one still surprised? It's ok if you were. It is also ok if you weren't. Here is the rest of Erik's story in Persia, please feel free to pack some tissue.

Chapter 11.

"So how and why did you come to leave Persia?" Meg asked, adding, "I noticed that you stopped referring to yourself as 'Erik' in your story, but instead are using the word 'I'."

Erik sighed, "I wanted to present what I did to you and your brother in a neutral light so that what I did back there would not frighten you; and also to allow you to reach your own conclusions. Unfortunately that technique is no longer working for me. Every bad thing that I did back then was my own fault and no one else's. I do not want to teach you the lesson that it is okay to do terrible things and then disown them. What I did back then was wrong, and I regret it to this day. My only defense is that I truly did not know any better. I had no experience with either love or friendship, and I had written off the possibility of that ever changing. But, as I learned later in life, I was wrong. Yet to get to that point I had to both suffer, and make others suffer, before I finally understood that not everyone was predisposed to hate me just because of my face. I realized that I had to change for the better, to make myself more appealing,"

Erik turned to Christine and smiled, "I had some help in doing so, your mother taught me many things; the first, and the best lesson that she taught me was how to love. So you see Meg, it was not only I who was your mother's teacher, she was my teacher as well. Do you understand any of this, daughter? Or are you still too young to know what I mean?"

"No Father, I think that I do understand. You are always teaching Gustave and I that we must own up to our mistakes and strive to do better. I feel sorry for all of those people that you hurt, but I also know that you have helped many people here as well and that is how I think of you. I remember the time that Suzette's parents lost all of their crops and you loaned them the money to keep their farm, when no one else would take a chance on them. Or the time that Marie's brother was very sick, and you paid for the boat to take him to Quebec City for treatment. His parents told me that you were like an angel from heaven in doing that for them, that she would have died but for you," Meg told him taking his hand in hers. "I guess that you were Maman's angel as well. Of course I have heard her call you that many times before but until now I did not understand that she actually meant it."

Christine smiled and then looked at her husband with a glow in her eyes, "He was so much more than my angel of music to me Meg, he was my father, teacher, and protector as well. For a time I forgot all that he did for me, because, to my shame, I let his face get in the way of my true feelings for him. You were almost never born because of my stubbornness and my refusal to see your father for who he really was. I might have lost him for good if I had not finally recognized my own feelings for him."

Gustave interrupted by asking his mother, "Who is Raoul de Chagny? Were you in love with Raoul de Chagny? I mean the real Raoul de Chagny?" He turned to his Father without waiting for her to answer, "I guess that we are not really related to the de Chagny family at alll, are we? I mean, I knew that you weren't Raoul de Chagny earlier when you described him. I just realized that it means that none of us are truly de Chagnys right?"

Erik replied, "No son, we are not. You must never tell anyone that we are not. If people believed that I was anyone but Raoul de Chagny and that we were not de Chagnys we would all be in grave danger. There are still people who would wish us harm if they knew the truth, which is why we have guarded our secret so closely, not telling even the two of you until now."

Gustave looked at his father, "Yet you are entrusting us with your secret now?"

Erik nodded, "Well you are both finally old enough to understand what happened back then and why this secret is so important to protect. There was a time when you might have innocently revealed our secret had you known. When you were small children you and your sister used to tell your friends everything, even when we told you to keep it a secret. Now you even keep secrets from us. Fortunately I am still very good at listening in on secrets, don't you forget that. All of those years of living with the gypsies, at the court of the Shah and then masquerading as a ghost made me able to find out almost any secret. For example I know that you have a crush on the Devereux girl," Erik turned to his daughter and teased, "I know what you want for your birthday, Meg, that porcelain doll from Germany."

Meg replied excitedly, "That's right I do. You always know what I want."

Gustave blushed, "How did you know about Madeleine? I haven't told anyone, not even her."

Erik smiled, "How could I not know? Do you think that you are the only boy in the history of the universe to have a secret crush on a girl? Your face reveals all to me son. Fortunately you have not inherited my affliction and do not need to wear a mask to hide your face, so I can see every emotion that you have easily. Yet only your mother can read my emotions because my mask hides so much of my face from the world. A long time ago even she could not read my emotions, but she is an expert now. At times though I wish that she were not so good at it. Now I have to be careful if I do not want her to read my face too easily. "

Christine laughed, "What do you mean? Would you like me to go back to fearing and loathing you?"

Erik laughed, "Well it did have its advantages at least up to a certain point. Back then you had no idea what I was up to, now it is harder and harder for me to keep you guessing."

Christine gave her husband a loving glance, "Never fear my love, I am keeping you young by forcing you to come up with new ways of being mysterious with me. You have yet to bore me even after all these years of marriage."

"Nor you me my love. Although our relationship has settled down a great deal since our early days together." Erik told her.

"I like it better this way," she cooed squeezing his arm affectionately.

"Agreed," he replied with equal affection meeting her eyes with his.

Gustave looked at his sister and observed, "This is usually our signal to leave, when they get all lovey-dovey with one another."

Meg looked at her brother and agreed, "Eeew, do we need to leave?"

Their parents both looked at each other guiltily and then back to their children. Christine blushed at the thought that their children could tell when she and Erik wanted each other.

Erik chuckled and then told them, "No, it is too early for that sort of thing and I promised to tell you more of our story. I will continue to tell you our story, but again you must still not interrupt me with too many questions. I have been especially patient in allowing more of them while I am speaking than I originally told you that you could ask, but they can still be distracting."

Gustave replied, "I understand Father."

Erik smiled, "Good. Now where was I? I believe that your sister asked me about how and why I left Persia? The answer is that, as time went by, my life became more and more precarious there. The Shah began to question my loyalty, and yet he loved the palace that I was building for him. As I told you earlier, I designed it so that it would be unmatched by anything else in the world. Even so, the Shah would continuously challenge me with new and ever more stringent demands, he did not want to keep his promise to me and threw these obstacles in my path. Yet each time I was able to change the design to meet his new specifications. In time I began to realize that it was my own combination of naivety and arrogant stupidity that put me into a position that I could not win. You see I believed that if I did all that he wished for that he would do as he promised and elevate me to the highest status in his kingdom, and to make me rich beyond my wildest ambitions. For a time, even while I was building it, he did just as he promised, I had a nice palace of my own and had the power to kill anyone in Persia who I did not like, with the exception of the Shah, and Monsieur Khan. Of course I reluctantly liked Monsieur Khan, although I was loathe to tell him. I did not want him to think that I had grown soft and accepted his many offers of friendship. Still I did spend a lot of time with him. He loved to speak to me about his time at the Sorbonne in Paris, and how he loved the opera there. We would argue over which opera was the greatest of all time."

Gustave interrupted, almost fearfully, "Did you ever use your power to kill anyone who offended you?"

Erik shook his head no, "No son, I never did. If that had been the case I would have had to kill almost every person in Persia, because nobody but Monsieur Khan, and my household servants liked me. Everyone else feared and loathed me. They called me the Angel of Death behind my back, because I was the Shah's executioner, and also because I looked like Death incarnate. I walked around court unmasked and people would scurry out of my way as if somehow my very presence would automatically lead to their death. The Shah noticed my effect on people and would force them to come and touch my face, if he was feeling particularly cruel and sadistic. I despised him for it, but had learned to curb my tongue and allow it so that I could retain my position and power. Completing the palace meant everything to me. I knew that it would survive even the passage of time, and grant me a certain degree of immortality. I spent more and more time in Mazendaran so that I might leave my mark on the palace, and to get away from the constrictors of the royal court. My palace was gradually turning into a structure of great beauty, and struck even myself with awe. I knew every stone, every piece of marble by heart and loved each and every part of it. I believed that it would be the only child that I would ever have, since I knew in my heart that no woman would ever love me."

He gave Christine a glowing look and continued, "I did not want to be removed from the project so I allowed him to humiliate me, and his courtiers as well. He would repeatedly put me into a position, where others would scorn me, yet I did not feel the need to put a single man to death. It was one of the many reasons that the Shah did not trust me, and rightfully so. I did grow to hate him for his cruelty, both to me, and to his hapless subjects. He knew that I believed myself to be superior to him somehow because I would not use my power to silence my enemies as he did, and again he was right. Once he tried to force me to kill one of the nobles. He had challenged me right in front of the Shah, but I flung my weapons aside and refused to fight. Ironically the noble did the same, although, he did not want to. He had hoped to fight and kill me to rid the Empire of my 'demonic influence' on the Shah, as he called it. The Shah ordered his men to kill the man, but I stepped in their path and stopped them from doing so. I insisted to the Shah that it was my honor, not his, that the noble had besmirched and that the man had not offended me in the least bit. My stubbornness made the Shah powerless to kill either of us. If he had done so he would have killed the man without cause. It would have weakened his standing among his own men. He could not be seen as being weaker and less generous in spirit than me, because it would have made him to be seen as vulnerable and mean spirited; but he never forgot the slight that I had given him, by allowing that man to live. The man was attacking me because he could not attack the Shah's honor directly without meeting a dire fate."

"Was the man that you spared grateful to you?" Gustave asked?

"No, son. He believed that it was simply another one of my tricks to ingratiate myself to him and others. The Shah also believed the same thing. No one could believe that a man who looked like me could show mercy to anyone. The truth was I did not see the need in killing someone who felt the exact same way about me as everyone else but was brave enough to do something about it. To me he showed a sense of honor that defied even death itself, or at least me, whom he believed to be death's representative itself."

Erik paused and continued thoughtfully, "Yet, in my mind, I had wallowed in the blood of the Shah's perceived enemies enough, I did not see the point of adding to that."

"So you never killed anyone that you were not ordered to kill as the Shah's executioner, even though you had the power to do so?" Gustave asked less fearfully.

"Of course not son. If I had done so then there would have scarcely been a man left alive in Persia and not many women or children." Erik told him.

"Then you did not murder anyone in Persia!" Gustave stated firmly, like a judge pronouncing a verdict.

"Well, in the eyes of the law no, yet many of the Shah's enemies that I executed had done nothing wrong; like that boy's father that I told you about earlier." Erik explained.

"But you did not condemn them to death. Did you know that they were innocent?" Gustave asked.

"No, I was not at their trials. I only carried out the sentences that were imposed upon them by the Shah and his courts." Erik told him.

"Then their blood is not really on your hands," Gustave insisted.

Erik looked at him and could see that his son really meant what he just said. For the first time since those days he felt absolved from some of the horror that he had perpetrated back then. Once Christine had tried to tell him the same thing, but he did not quite believe that she could forgive him what he had done so easily. He turned to his son and told him hoarsely, "Thank you, son, it means a lot to me that you do not think worse of me for what I did back then. You are truly your mother's son," Erik murmured, he looked at his daughter. "Do you agree with your brother?"

"Yes, I do not like your job that you had, but even here in Quebec we have men who work as executioners. Aurore Martin's father, for example, he is the town executioner, yet he is also a deacon of the Church, no one calls him the 'Angel of Death'," Meg reminded him. "Remember how they found out that Jacques Leboeuf was really innocent after he was hung? How sorry the townspeople were for that, yet no one blamed Monsieur Martin for being his executioner, not even Madame Leboeuf, so why do you blame yourself Father?"

"Because the Shah could be sadistic and cruel and I knew it, and yet I was his willing henchman," he told them.

"But he accepted you and let you build the palace for him, as you said no one accepted you back then and you wanted that more than anything." Meg said. "It is normal to want to be liked. When I go to school I want to be popular."

"But your popularity did not give you the power to kill people, mine did. As I told you, I was not popular but I was hated and deeply." Erik told her. "The Shah used me to deflect the hatred from him, which was a mark of a brilliant ruler."

"But you just told us that you didn't use your power to kill anyone. You said that you had the right to do so and could have done without getting in to trouble." Gustave reminded him.

Erik agreed reluctantly, "Yes I did, ironically I got into trouble for not using it. As I said before, it proved to the Shah that I was trying to make friends, which was nonsense; I simply did not see the point of killing my enemies and thus creating new ones in their stead. Revenge killings are rampant in that part of the world. If I did nothing to act against them they could not pre-emptively strike against me. The Shah simply did not understand my logic, because he came from a place where strength was maintained by force. In fact later on when I look back on those days, I realize now that the Shah's tactics were a ploy to maintain a firm grip on power. Back then I believed him to be just plain evil and sadistic but there was more to it than that. He had to maintain a firm grip on power to retain his position, any softness would have potentially condemned his reign to failure, as it did to the reign of his father."

"So when did you decide to leave Persia?" Meg asked.

"When I finally understood that the Shah would indeed kill me and in the most sadistic manner possible to prove his point that he could triumph even over death itself. Yet even then I hesitated to flee. You see I was proud of my palace and all of the wonders that I had created there. I added every modern amenity, even a miniature train that could take the Shah around the grounds, so vast that they were that it was useful. Also plumbing, Roman style baths, and most importantly to the Shah he could hear every voice spoken in the palace through special devices that I had installed in every room. Since he was paranoid about his nobles plotting against him, I designed a system in my palace that allowed him to hear them and all of what was said against him. When I showed the completed palace and explained all of its wonders to him, he was speechless with awe. When he glanced at me for once I could see his normal sneer, change to a look of pure admiration and respect, but only for a moment."

"You have created a true marvel, Frenchman. Who would have guessed that a man as hideous as you are could create something as beautiful and wondrous as this palace? I thoroughly admit that when I gave you this job, I expected that you would fail to impress since you had so few credentials, and are such an odd sort of creature, but great Cyrus himself did not have an architect as talented as you. You have earned your honors Frenchman. Come before me tomorrow morning and I will give you your due. In the meantime I have arranged that my own servants pamper you for this night, as an award for your own ingenuity. You will not refuse this gift will you?" he asked with a challenge.

I could see that his offer was not one that I could refuse. I could see the sadistic gleam in his eyes and wondered what he had in store for me. I knew that his servants would shudder to touch me, and would loathe every minute that they had to spend with me. Also he had made me install a one way looking glass in the particular room that I was assigned to, I had no doubt that he was going to watch because he was going to enjoy the looks of horror on the 'servant's' faces as they had to tend to me and my needs. He did not disappoint me; he did, as well as almost his entire court. His so called 'servants' were the wives of some of the men that I had executed for him over the years that he had kept as concubines and/or slaves. He sought to debase them even more by giving them to me, the 'Angel of Death'. He expected that an affection-starved monster, such as myself, would eagerly partake of them despite their distaste for me. Just to arouse me more, he dressed them as enticingly as he could, hoping to ignite my basest instincts. He wanted to show his courtiers that should they choose to defy him that he would 'feed' their wives to me to satisfy my lust, as if I were just a soulless monster. I realized then that the Daroga's warnings had been correct. The Shah had used my own desires to be accepted and leave a legacy against me. He had used me as a tool to quash all opposition against him. My maze was his way of destroying his enemy's souls, and not content with that he wanted to use me to debase their wives and daughters, to show them that even they were not safe; that they would fall victim to the terrible beast, by being fed to me like lambs to the slaughter. The horrific thought bore into my mind destroying even the fragments of hope that still lay dormant inside of me. In the end, I had only been a tool for the Shah, a walking torture devise to keep his enemies in line. I felt even more debased than I had when I walked away from the gypsies, lower than I felt even when the Saracenis rejected me. I wanted to die right there and then, and did not even mind what torture that the Shah would have in mind for me before he would put me down like a rabid dog.'

'I later found out his true intentions for me. At first his intent was to blind me, and torture and imprison me so that I could not build another wonder such as this palace, like the Russians who built the beautiful Basilica in Moscow. He had decided to keep me alive so that he could use my ugliness as a deterrent, and perhaps he might have succeeded but for the fact that I refused to touch any of the woman that he sent to me, and retreated into my own realm, listening to the soothing opera music that played in my head. I was oblivious to all but the music in my soul, eagerly awaiting my fate. Yet that angered him even more. Instead of doing as originally planned he ordered Monsieur Khan to first seize me and then kill me, right there and then. Yet the Daroga still believed that his old friend had treated me poorly, and felt responsible for delivering me to my fate to begin with. He still believed that there was goodness somewhere in my heart and soul, and he would not see my life ended so quickly, and what he felt were my gifts to humanity wasted. Of all the innocent souls that he had not stopped his cousin from taking, my bloodstained one was still the only one that he intervened to save.'

'Monsieur Khan convinced the Shah that it would be best to have a public execution of me in Tehran to prove to the court that the Shah was so strong that he could even triumph over death itself, since he had set me up to be the 'Angel of Death'. My death could be made into a spectacle to showcase both his power and his concern for his people, that no one, not even death incarnate could defy him, or harm his people. The Shah loved his cousin's idea, naturally and ordered him to prepare it. Nadir and his men seized me, and pulled me out of the palace, I lacked the motivation to even fight them for my life. I believed that my death would stop my pain, and that once I was gone no one could use me in any terrible manner any longer. Yet, once I was restrained, Monsieur Khan ordered that his men ride to Tehran to set up what was to be my execution. They reluctantly agreed to go, but tried to suggest to him that at least a couple of them should stay with him to guard me. Nadir just smiled calmly and told them quite arrogantly that he was capable of guarding me without any help.'

"Look at him, he is in a stupor. I am the Shah's favorite cousin and the Daroga here. I have the blood of kings flowing through my veins. Are you implying that I cannot keep one shackled man in place?" He mocked his men, using a tone resembling that of his cousin.

"No of course not," they replied, just as meekly as he thought that he would.

When they were gone Nadir turned to me and told me almost angrily, "Now do you see what a fool you were to disregard the danger that I have repeatedly warned you of? Should I take you to Tehran to act as a lamb to the slaughter?"

"And you are going to betray your cousin by letting me go? You would choose to help a freak like me over your blood kin?" I mocked sardonically. I had no idea that he would dare attempt what he was about to do. After all I had repeatedly scorned his offers of friendship and advice, and the Shah and he were as close as brothers.'

"As a matter of fact, yes. I am going to betray my cousin, and save you. I already have hired an Azerbaijani smuggler to take you and I, and our horses, across the Caspian Sea to Baku in Russia. Our horses are already on board the ship. From there I have arranged that we go by steamship to Astrakhan and up the Volga River towards Moscow, away from this place. I will not let any one exploit you ever again, or you give up your immortal soul to be used as anyone's tool. I have already destroyed your maze in Tehran, and you will never make another like it again. Is that understood?"

The Daroga gave me a fierce look and I meekly nodded my assent. I still could not believe that he would give up his life, and his position to help me.

In Persia your family heritage is part of your identity and he was the Shah's cousin, blood did not betray blood particularly for a _kuffir's_ soul such as mine.'

To this day I still wonder why he remained patient with me because although he gave up everything from me, I stubbornly refused to admit that I thought of him as my friend. By then my stubbornness was not due to my disbelief in the sincerity of his friendship, but in my own firm belief that I was not worthy of such a title from him. He deserved better than me and my broken and battered soul, and yet he stuck by me, and served as my friend, confessor and confidant for many years, until I unwittingly betrayed him in my madness.' At that moment Erik stopped speaking as his voice cracked in pain.

"I am sorry. I cannot speak of this any longer today. I am too distraught to do so," he told them dejectedly. "I need to spend some time with my music to drive the pain out of my system."

"Shall I go with you mon amour, perhaps if I sing for you I will get you out of this mood," Christine offered.

Erik gave her a reluctant smile; "No I need to be alone with my ghosts for a while. I will be all right darling I really will. I just need some time alone in the dark, just for a little bit."

As he left the room Meg turned to her mother and said sadly, "Poor Father, I had no idea of all that he had gone through. I knew that he has always been sensitive about his face, but I did not realize the trouble that it got him into. People can be so cruel."

Christine smiled gently, a small measure of sadness invaded her voice as she thought about the time that she had first unmasked him, "Yes darling they can, which is why we have taught both you and your brother to look with your heart and not with your eyes, then you will never get into trouble."


	12. Chapter 12

Some of you questioned whether the children knew that Erik was not Raoul before the last chapter. The answer is yes. They learned in Chapter 2-3 when Erik described Raoul and Erik. At the time, Erik saw that this raised a lot of questions, which is why Gustave and Meg were asked to write down their questions. Erik did not want the story to go off on a tangent before he got started, because the whole point of him explaining their past was to make their children understand what was going on and why they might still be in danger. It was felt that they were now old enough to understand, given the fact that they were pre-teens. I had a reader who did not quite get this. She could not understand how they could know and asked me to clarify it for them and other readers who might be confused. I had previously thought that the descriptions made it quite obvious, but for that person's sake, in the last chapter I attempted to clarify by having Gustave spell it out but confused others in doing so. I have edited Gustave's question in the last chapter to better clarify. He now spells it out when he found out. Anyhow here is chapter 12.

Chapter 12.

Christine eventually sought out her husband to get him to go to bed. When he was in one of his moods she normally gave him some time to himself but she did not like him to succumb to those feelings for too long or he would become depressed and reclusive. Long ago she learned to understand that Erik did not think or react as others might do because he had no one to teach him how to cope, or how to react to stressors in a normal way. This time, as expected, she could see that his eyes were still rimmed with tears at the fate of his old friend, clearly condemning himself to his own kangaroo court of his mind to a sentence of misery. After years of practice she knew exactly what she had to do. Christine put her arms around him and comforted him, and sang an old melody that he had taught her years before when she was still in mourning for the death of her father. The old Norman lullaby had comforted her and she was now using it in the same way.

Erik had never really had a childhood, and there had been times in their marriage that she felt the need to stop being a wife, for a moment, and give him both the love and the comfort that his mother should have provided to him when he was a small child. If Erik had only been nurtured, instead of abhorred, he might have contributed so much more to the world, his heart was naturally huge; but it had been broken more times than he deserved. It was no small miracle that he could stumble upon the path to love at all, given all that he had been though. His story reminded her just how damaged by the world his younger self had been. Why he had felt compelled to become the Phantom that haunted the Paris Opera House. It had been him who had been tortured and haunted by humanity. He had been repeatedly abused, violated, tossed aside, taken advantage of and yet survived to become the warm and loving man that he was meant to be.

She knew exactly what his preoccupation was. It had been many years since Nadir's passing, but she could see that the thoughts of Persia was bringing it all back to him, as if it had just happened. Erik still felt guilty about the Persian's fate that night in his lair. Over the years the Daroga's death would haunt him, especially because he had broken his promise to the Persian not to ever rebuild his maze of mirrors, because of the Islamic view of suicide. Erik not only despaired that he had killed his friend in this life, but felt that he had deprived him of his Islamic heaven as well for all eternity. It was a terrible burden for him to carry, more terrible for him even than the fact that he had killed so many in Persia, which was a horrible burden upon Erik's soul in its own right, but he largely had come to terms that he was only a mindless weapon in the Shah's eager hands, little different than his Punjab for him. The Shah had seen him only as an instrument of torture and death, to use as he pleased, but the Persian's death was different.

In his madness of those last days in Paris, he had easily forsaken his promise to Nadir never to build another maze, because he felt that the world had forsaken him. He had wrongfully believed that even Madame Giry, Darius and the Daroga had disowned him, and would never again seek him out because they believed that he was beyond redemption once he had killed Joseph Buquet. They left him alone to fester in his madness, which he had finally succumbed to. He erected the maze as a final defense to keep out any unwanted visitor's, which was basically everyone, including the Persian and Madame Giry. Erik had not told Nadir that he had rebuilt it, because he had cut himself off from the world completely to complete his opera. In hindsight, perhaps the Persian despised his maze so much precisely because he had some sort of premonition about it that it would prove to be his end. It was not what Erik had intended for the device to harm Nadir. Nonetheless if he had never built it, the Daroga might still be alive today.

Once upon a time Christine had been afraid of those moods, but she had long since realized that he would never harm her, no matter how deep his emotions might be. She understood his pain all too well because she shared some of it. She too had felt guilty because she was also responsible for what happened to all of them that night. If only she had been less fearful of Erik, less apt to judge him, more sympathetic and empathetic to his plight, she might have arrested his slide into madness that night, and the dead might still be alive. Of course if she had been more empathetic things might have turned out very different. Earlier, she had never answered Gustave's question about whether or not she had loved Raoul, the real one. She had deliberately ignored it because of the answer. The truth was that she did love Raoul de Chagny; she made no secret of that to Erik. He knew the answer all too well. In the beginning, long ago, she had never failed to remind him of that fact. She exalted in doing so, delighting in watching the hurt and the pain cross over his face as if to transfer it from her heart into his. Like a petulant child, she gladly employed it as a weapon against him because she wanted vengeance against him for the 'so called crimes' that he had committed against both her and the world. She still had had no idea of the type of man that he really was. She accused him of being both selfish and heartless, while he was assuring their safety against a dangerous world. She failed to understand the extent of the traumas that he had been subjected to. She had only thought about her own suffering. Now if she could have done so she would have taken every iota of pain that he had ever been subjected to and expunged it from his heart. From the beginning of his life, fate had been unkind to him, and once she too had shared the world's scorn of him and denied him of what he most deserved, and yet still he loved her even as she betrayed him, and railed against him.

Yes a part of her always would love Raoul, at least as a friend or brother, but no longer as a beau. How could she not have loved him? He was handsome and caring; a good man who truly had truly looked out for her despite what he perceived to be the danger to both of them. Once she had thought that she could never again live without him. Yet he no longer commanded her soul, if he ever really did which she doubted. No that honor belonged solely to Erik, who had also cared for her and guided and protected her, and had loved her with an intensity that few men were capable of. Her love for Raoul had been like a love of the spring, immature and shallow. At first it had blossomed into something that was seemingly beautiful, but only fleeting in nature. After a short time, it fell away to be replaced by summer. In contrast, her love for Erik was like the summer sun, deep and strong and ever growing, and very fruitful. She knew that even when it turned into autumn she would still love him as deeply and intensely as the browns, yellows and reds of the autumn leaves. Always colorful, very mature. She could no longer imagine what life would be like without him and his love. She would never betray him again, she would rather die than allow him to harbor the least bit of doubt of her undying fealty to him.

When she entered his sanctum she had brought his favorite light meal with some brandy, hot crusty bread and strawberry jam, a ham sandwich with cheese, with the coarse Dijon mustard that she knew that he liked. Once she was done embracing him, she turned to him like a mother hen and ordered, "You must eat something ange, you do know that all of your pain will not bring him back."

He nodded his agreement picked up a piece of the bread, and swallowed some of the brandy and then met her concerned gaze. She kneaded his tense shoulders and gently kissed his furrowed brow. "You do remember what you told me back then, "We all make choices and sometimes our actions lead to unforeseen endings. You could not have known that he would end up trapped in your maze. You did not put him there."

Erik met her gaze, "No but I might have well have. I promised him that I would never build one again, but after Buquet, I was afraid that I would be hunted down like a rabid dog and captured and executed, and perhaps even they might have displayed my head at some museum for all eternity, but what would it have mattered? I was resigned to my death, and if they wanted to display me as an oddity in death would it really have mattered? For that fear I broke my promise to him by building it as my final line of defense against the world. But that is not why I am so upset this time."

Christine looked at him in surprise, "Well why are you so upset then?"

Erik gave her a stricken glance; "Because all of this reminded me once more that I never admitted to him that I considered him to be my friend. Not until that last night. Yet still he constantly called me '_doostam_', which in Farsi means 'my friend'. He never knew that I had long considered him to be my friend. From the moment that he chose to help me, rather than execute me, as the Shah had ordered, I knew that he was indeed my friend and yet I was undeserving of such loyalty. I was such a selfish wretch back then. I was far too absorbed in my own misery to take the time to acknowledge our friendship to him. It would have been so easy for me to do so, to call him _'doostam'_. He used to tease me and challenge me to give him that title, and yet I withheld that honor from him until the end when it was too late. Not once did I thank him for saving my life, or accompanying me across Europe back to France and then helping me to settle in, in Paris. He almost lost his life several times thanks to his association with me, yet even then I refused to say that simple word, _'doostam'_. It rolled off his lips so readily every time he spoke to me. Yet my own lips could not utter that single word not even once. What a poor disloyal wretch that I turned out to be; I do not even know how you can stand to like me, let alone love me when I am such an undeserving wretch. "

Christine met his gaze and smiled sadly; he never failed to find something to condemn himself with, "But I am sure that he knew Erik. I did not meet him and get to know him during his lifetime but from what you told me about your adventures together, and what I know of you, he knew that you were his friend. You also told me that you risked your life to save his life more than once, surely that was not the act of a mere acquaintance."

"Well his life would never have been in danger in the least bit had he chosen not to remain with me. It was I who made us enemies at every turn. He was the man that got us out of trouble." Erik reminded her.

They had had this conversation before. Even after all of these years Erik blamed his own actions for making himself enemies, and failed to take their prejudices into account as much as he should have. Erik was not the sort of man to go out of his way to offend people, but he offended many just because they would see the mask on his face. Many felt compelled to see what the mask covered but recoiled in horror when it was removed. She now knew that she had not been the first to remove his mask without his permission. It had been done many times before, and the result was always the same, they would either fear or loathe him as she had done, or treat him as subhuman. Either way he never won and it was the reason that he had reacted so poorly and violently when she had done the same. With his mask he felt secure and even powerful, when it was removed he felt scared and vulnerable. Small wonder then why he had grown to mistrust all of humanity. Until his return to France only Nadir had ever offered him his friendship, even after gazing upon his hideous face. Once he returned to France only one other offered him such unwavering friendship, Madame Giry.

Christine knew what to do to when Erik spoke that way. She again took him into her arms like he was a little boy, and caressed him softly. At first, long ago when she had started to do that he had cringed as if he were expecting her to whip him instead, and then gradually and slowly he had abandoned his defenses and let him. Now he could not get enough of her touch, as if he had been starved for it for his entire life, which of course he had been until recent years. She would hold him and caress him, just because she could and she knew how much he loved it and needed it. He nuzzled her back like a horse receiving a cube of sugar.

"You really are too good to me ange," he cooed. His sadness fled, and was replaced by contentment. "I will never understand what it was that I did to make you love me as you now do but I will never turn it away no matter what it source might be," he told her silkily.

"Why shouldn't I love you 'Raoul de Chagny'." Christine whispered.

He gave her a quick glance, "I wonder if I will ever be able to shed that name. I wish that I could hear you say my real name with those same three simple words 'I love you'."

"I love you Erik von Trier," She told him softly.

Erik replied softly, "You know that I am not supposed to use that name. My father never acknowledged me to be his. Not even when that damned Persian insisted that I seek him out."

"He was trying to help to find you a real place in the world. He couldn't have known that your father would slam the door in your face and insist that you use your mother's last name and not his," Christine reminded him.

"I am not going to tell the children anything about that. If he could not accept me as his son back then, I will not accept him now. I will never let him know that he has such magnificent grandchildren," Erik insisted. "It serves him right that his second wife was barren, a man such as that should never have been permitted to have children and now she is gone as well."

"I agree with you mon amour, but it is sad to think that if he had been any sort of decent father that he would have children to look after him. You are a great father and husband and would have made a marvelous son as well, no doubt," Christine opined.

"We will never know shall we?" Erik intoned bitterly. "I don't care that he is one of the wealthiest men in Germany. He can die alone and unloved surrounded by his millions of German Marks. They can make him comfortable as his life's blood oozes away. We don't need his filthy money."

"I don't blame you, mon amor, he is unworthy of your regard," Christine agreed.

"But I will tell the children a little about how we came to be in Paris, and of course how I met and then nurtured you. Do you want me to soften any of our earlier relationship when telling them about it? I will not try to make excuses for what I did, everyone knows that the Phantom of the Opera was an 'evil murderer'. Even if I tried to hide it eventually they are likely to find out." Erik reminded her.

"You were not evil, and I would hesitate to call you a murderer. You were responsible for some deaths, but then again in a way so was I," Christine admonished.

"It was not quite the same at all Christine. I directly ended people's lives. I used my Punjab lasso and had no trouble with the concept of killing them if necessary, if they became a threat to me." Erik told her.

"But they were a threat to you." Christine replied.

"You did not always believe that I wasn't a murderer." Erik pointed out to her.

"You did not always believe that I loved you either, and neither did I, but it does not make it less true. I love you beyond all reason, Erik. Will you come to be now, once you are doing with your snack?" Christine asked.

"Only if you continue to show me just how much that you do love me." Erik replied with a smile.

The next morning was snowy once again. After breakfast Erik resumed the story. He looked at his children and apologized, "I am sorry, I sometimes get a little emotional when I think of my old friend." Erik admitted. "Now where was I?" he asked.

"You and Monsieur Khan had just fled to the Black Sea." Gustave told his father.

Erik sighed and began again, "Our escape from Persia was largely uneventful. Mazendaran is very close to the Black Sea, and smugglers have used that region as an escape route for centuries. Monsieur Khan knew many of the smugglers because he had interrogated many of them. He knew which ones were apt to talk and which ones did their job without question for the right price. By the time that the Shah had found out that we were not in Tehran, we had already disembarked in Baku where we met Nadir's trusted manservant Darius. Nadir trusted Darius completely because hated the Shah for good reason. Darius was a Zoroastrian. He proudly boasted that he was a direct descendant of the last great Sassanian king Khosrau II. He was a true Persian of Pars stock, and looked down upon most of the current Muslim Turkman rulers of Persia as barbaric invaders of his homeland.'

'Darius especially despised the current king, Nasser, because he had first blinded and then executed his father as a traitor. Later the Shah gave Darius to Nadir as a gift, a new slave to be used however Nadir saw fit to do so. The Daroga decided to treat his new slave kindly, beginning by freeing him, much to his cousin's disapprobation, but the Shah did not get angry with his cousin he merely railed at him for having a kind heart. Nadir kept him on as a trusted servant, not a slave. He and Darius were nearly the same age, and from the beginning Nadir treated his new servant as almost an equal. He took him with him to Paris when he went to study at the Sorbonne, and allowed Darius to dress as a gentleman, as befitting his true status as a high born Persian and not a peasant. Darius honestly grew to like his master, who paid him a generous salary. When the time came that Nadir was ready to leave Paris he offered that Darius could remain in Paris, if he were to so choose. But Darius was loyal to him in return and did not take him up on his offer. He accompanied Nadir on all his travels and did his bidding no matter how distasteful that he might find it. Of course he later confessed to me that the only truly distasteful jobs that Nadir had given to him revolved around me. In the beginning, he was sure that I was a 'daeva', which is the Zoroastrian equivalent of a demon. When I was first in Persia the very sight of me caused him to flee my presence, lest a drop of my evil were to envelop him. In the five years that I had lived in Persia, he had never warmed to me, in fact he learned of my misdeeds and was yet even more convinced of what I was. I was therefore shocked that Nadir had chosen Darius to help us escape Persia, but Darius made all of the arrangements with great efficiency.'

'He greeted both of us at the docks in Baku, and escorted us to the cargo hold waiting Russian freighter, which took us to Astrakhan at the Delta of the Volga River. From there we caught another boat, which conveyed us close to Moscow, from where we caught a train to Saint Petersburg, where I offered the Imperial Russian Court my services. During our travels, due to his close proximity to me Darius began to soften his aversion to me, and realized that I was not going to harm him, even if I looked like death itself. He was forced to take his meals with me, and decided that a 'daeva' would not likely just sit there and not harm someone. He studied his religious texts and me and decided that if the Daroga could tolerate me that he would accept his opinion of me and treat me like a man. Furthermore while in Mazendaran he had seen my palace and admired my creation. He warmed to be considerably and then offered me his friendship, first reluctantly and then warmly.'

'Once in Saint Petersburg, we attempted to become part of the court there. The Russian nobility had a lot of money and we felt that my architectural talents would be in high demand there commanding a great salary, so that we could rebuild our fortunes, we had to leave most of our money in Persia where the Shah had confiscated almost all of it. Nadir had met the Russian Tsar Alexander II when Alexander had been the Tsarevich, or heir to the throne. Nadir, at that time was a young attaché at the Persian Embassy in St. Petersburg. Nadir and the Tsarevich both spoke fluent French and therefore the Persia was frequently employed to translate Farsi or Turkeman into French for visiting dignitaries, therefore Alexander had known him quite well. Unfortunately, the Russians viewed me with much suspicion, as always, and even more so when they realized both my nationality and my time with the gypsies. Alexander welcomed the Persian with open arms but questioned me. It had not been so long since Russia had fought a war with France and Great Britain over Turkey. I was a Frenchman, and therefore viewed as a potential French spy by the Court. A masked Frenchman was rather fatally suspicious to the Russians. While the Tsar of that time was a very liberal King compared to both his father and his son, like Nasser of Persia, his position was precarious to an extent. He had only recently freed the serfs of Russia from centuries of servitude to the nobility, and the nobility were not pleased with him for doing so. The country was also rife with rebellious minorities, Anarchists, Decembrists, Democrats and Communists who wanted to change the form of government to suit their ideas of what sort of utopian kingdom that Russia should be. Eventually the Anarchists shot and killed that very Tsar, Alexander, who was replaced by his far more repressive son.'

Nadir, Darius and I spent a year in St. Petersburg cooling our heels, waiting for the right opportunity for me to be employed as an architect. I had no interest, so instead had to manage to eek out a living as a magician. Just when we were about to give up, a Turkish diplomat called on us, and offered me a princely sum to design and construct a similar palace to Mazendaran in Adrianople, near the Greek border. Nadir warned me that the young Sultan might turn out to be just as bad as his cousin, but I accepted anyways. The Sultan, Abdul Aziz, had only recently ascended the throne, and was a great admirer of all things British and French, unlike the Russians who had so recently fought a war with them. He was modernizing the infrastructure of his country and heard about the palace in Mazendaran. He had heard rumors that the French architect had fled to Russia, and he had me tracked down.'

'We spent two years in Turkey building the palace when again we were forced to flee due to an extradition request from the Shah of Persia against us. The Sultan, who wanted warmer relations with his Persian neighbor, felt that he could complete his new palace without me, since I had provided him with the plans. He realized that if he gave me up to Nasser that he would not have to pay me that princely sum that he had offered at all, yet he would still get his modern palace. If not for the fact that Darius had been speaking with some of the Sultan's servants and had gotten wind of the extradition request, we might have been forced to return to Tehran to face almost certain death. Fortunately Adrianople was very close to the Greek border, and the Greeks hated the Turks so it was not too difficult to flee into Greece. From Greece we decided to head to Paris. I had been gone long enough to decide that the East was a worse place for me to be even than France. So, in early 1872, after twelve years and three continents the prodigal son of France returned home."

Erik paused. "Let's have some lunch and I will tell you about how I met your mother."


	13. Chapter 13

Thank you to all my recent reviewers, Grandma Paula welcome back again, Badassyd I am glad that you are still there even if you are busy, same with you maria0789, Mimi Pied, and Kitkat. I always love seeing all of your reviews. Thank you also jme77 for your very nice review. I remember you from other stories, welcome to this story. Igenlode Wordsmith, you were right I let the cat out of the bag in a Freudian slip a couple of chapters before I wanted to. Thank you for pointing that out, I have changed it for future readers. Victimoffiction, I just got your review of chapter 1 a few minutes ago, if you are still reading and still like my writing style thank you. TMara, You are Love, and MarilynKC thank you again for always being there, I really appreciate your continued support, as well as yours Kitkat, Badassyd and Mimi Pied, MissFlick734 who have left many reviews in almost all of my stories. And last but not least thank you Judybear236 for being a great beta as always, ever since _Phantom Phoenix_. We are now in Paris setting up house, enjoy… The next update probably will not be out until at least next Wednesday. I am heading down to Florida for the weekend.

Chapter 13.

The children remained captivated by Erik's tale, anxious to hear more of their parents' story. Erik glanced at Christine and met her eyes, as they were about to enter a mutually painful period. It was hard for either of them to remember the events in Paris without some degree of dismay and regret at their own actions towards one another. Up until this point, while Erik had relayed his own terrible past, there had been no conflict to convey between him and Christine. Although they had long since settled their differences, it was still a painful time. Even after all these years it still had the power to wound both of them. He hoped that he could tell the story without calling up the demons of the past with it. But the pain would come, most definitely. He hoped that his children would understand, as they did with Persia.

It had begun with the best of intentions; at first it was truly so innocent. He had only had recognized that there was a soul as lonely as his, and he wanted to help Christine to find solace in music, in the exact same way that he had. Music was the only thing that had kept him from succumbing to an abyss of despair and madness. It had given him an outlet to express his pain and create something of lasting beauty. He had not thought of Christine as a potential wife or even sought a friendship. No, just as someone who he could help without being scorned or worse yet used as a tool for committing evil. No more need to wallow in blood, or feel pain or even hatred. For once in his life his help was both needed and wanted. It had felt so good, so glorious, to be of use, even if he had to use deception to mete it out. He could not very well show his hideous face to his protégé, or even the real man in a mask. He contented himself with being a voice, knowing even then that she she would have run from him in terror, just as the others did. Sadly, he still had just wanted to be a normal man. More than anything, even riches, honor, acclaim. Life had little meaning without someone to share it with. He wanted a wife who could walk with him on the Bois and together admire the fragrant beauty around them.

Back then he had watched scornfully, as other men took their wives for granted and sometimes even abused them or dishonored their vows, yet they could have what his face had denied him. He would have done no such thing; his wife would have had everything that he could give because he valued love above all. He desperately wanted a woman that he could shower with love, by singing to her and writing sonnets of love. He had stored that yearning inside of him, imprisoned it deep in the dungeon of his mind knowing that if he released it and failed to attain love that he would likely succumb to madness. The door to happiness was firmly barred. At first he wanted no part of humanity, save for the bare minimum of contact needed to survive. But Christine's innocent loneliness cried out to him and touched him in a way that he had proudly believed himself to be no longer able to be touched. No relationship with a woman had ever worked for him, with the exception of Antoinette Giry, but he had bought her loyalty by saving her daughter. But Christine was not yet a woman; just a child and she covertly made a place for herself in his soul. He settled for helping her surreptitiously, as a voice in the dark, an Angel of Music who eventually became a loathsome demon. First he had to relate how he came to become both a heavenly Angel and a demonic Phantom. His career as the Opera Ghost began as a taunt against him when he tried to settle in as a normal man of twenty-seven. He wanted to put his horrible past behind him, and his Persian friend was more than ready to help him.

With those thoughts in mind, he knew exactly where to start and turned to his children and resumed telling the story, "It was the January of 1872, when we arrived in Paris. I had been gone from France for many years. It felt pleasant to be back in a land where they spoke my native tongue. French is so beautiful compared to other languages, only Italian could hope to match it in beauty, and even then, in my own mind, French was far more glorious. After so many years abroad it felt so right, so civilized to walk the streets of Paris, even if I only dared to do so at night, where the darkness softened the contrast of my white porcelain mask to the exposed part of my face. Hope stirred from its burial grounds deep within my soul. Perhaps a city of such enlightenment, a place where the slogan 'Liberty, Equality and Fraternity' had been born, and where only recently, those ideas had been renewed when the Empire had given way to the Republic, would accept me as a native son. Would those noble thoughts apply to me? The man with the monster's face? France seemed so noble, so different than the repressive Empires where I had spent my then recent years, no Shah, Tsar or Sultan, no terrible despots at all, predisposed to harm me if I outlived my usefulness to them. The Angel of Death was in retirement, or was he?'

'Although Paris was being rebuilt to modernize the old and had recently been transformed into a city of wide boulevards and parks by Baron Haussmann, and had become a very symbol of modernity that the Shah could have only dreamed of, I did not have any desire to continue my career as an architect. I did not want my Eastern enemies to notice my work, and send in assassins to finish the job that remained uncompleted, to end my life. I did not need money. I was already a wealthy man. When I was lured to Turkey I insisted upon half of my fee to be paid to me up front to me in Gold. The Sultan had done so and I then sent the money to Paris where Nadir Khan knew, a banker of great integrity, who was employed to manage my small fortune. He readily took my money and indeed turned out to be as good as Monsieur Khan had claimed him to be. He doubled my fortune to in less than two years time. Apparently he had invested it in German armaments, as a safe place to keep it during the upheavals of 1870-71. It was ironic that a Frenchman might have done so, but the man was Alsatian in origin and therefore had less issues with investing in Germany, than other Frenchmen might have done. I did not care if he gave it to the devil himself as long as he could make me a wealthy man, the Persian as well as I shared my riches with him.'

'Freed from financial hardship, I turned my attention to my first love, music. Although mankind had relegated me into the dregs of society, and denied me the chance to live a normal life, I was still attracted to music, and particularly the Opera. I had loved the spectacle and beauty of opera music, ever since Patrizia had introduced me to opera in Naples. They did not have such refinements in either Persia or Turkey, at least not in the way that it was performed in Europe. Saint Petersburg was full of such amusements; but if I dared to come to view them I would spend the evening being continuously blasted with uncomfortable stares. I could not afford a box, and therefore had to sit with the ordinary operagoers, who spent more time staring at and discussing me then actually watching the beautiful opera. It was a distraction to me to feel their condemning eyes on my masked face. It felt as if each stare was piercing my mask, and that they could see my hideous features beneath it. I cringed at the thought of them doing so, and condemning me. I couldn't subject myself to more of that, and vowed not to return to the opera and sit outside the comforting anonymity of a box ever again. It was simply not worth it.'

'Instead of attending the opera, I began to compose my first opera, _Le Empereur de Perse et la Reine Esther. _It was a lavish opera with heavy Persian undertones in the music. I finished it shortly before fleeing Adrianople. Nadir convinced me that perhaps I could come to the Opera House in Paris and offer my opus to them. I was cynical that they would do so, but Nadir had heard me both play it and sing it over the years and believed it to be worthy of an attempt to get it produced. He convinced me that I had nothing to lose for the effort; and so, with my permission, he approached the managers of the Opera Populaire purporting to represent a new and talented French composer. He asked a well-situated friend of his, from his days at the Sorbonne, to give him a reference so that he could make an appointment to see the managers. Daroga succeeded and got in to see them. They were hoping that a rich Eastern prince was going to propose to invest in their enterprise. When they found out his purpose they were completely disinterested, indeed they were contemptuous of my work.'

'They barely glanced at my work before they put it down and then told Nadir arrogantly, "You must be joking if you think that we would put on some unknown piece of garbage such as this. We were told by the Comte de Camenbert that you are a Prince in your own country, a cousin to the Emperor of Persia, which is we agreed to see you. We had hoped that you might wish to subscribe to our theatre, perhaps purchase one of our boxes at least. But did you honestly believe that we would put on some obscure amateur piece like this one? Surely even a foreigner such as you must have realized that we are the most prestigious opera house in all of France, possibly the world. You cannot expect us to put on an opera penned by an unnamed phantom artist, who was so unsure of his own work that he did not even deign to show his face here today with you. We suggest that you search for a different place to stage this tawdry piece of trash. Something more geared to a common clientele like the Opera Comique or better yet one of those lower class cabarets that have been popping up in Montmartre since the war.'

'The managers did not realize that their 'phantom' artist had explored their entire opera house the night before, and had found a spot from which to listen in on every word of the conversation. I was highly offended by the fact that they would disparage my work in such a way. I had worked on it for many years, slaving over it and perfecting every note and word, yet they dismissed it as garbage with nary a glance. I made an accidental growl of anger, which projected into the room. My temper has not always been the most level. Nadir naturally knew that I had made the sound. I had told him that I had found a perfect hiding place where I could listen in before he went in. The two managers had no idea of what had caused the noise and were noticeably shaken by it. I was pleased that I had turned their arrogance towards my work into fear of some unknown noise.'

"What was that?" One of them asked fearfully, he turned to his partner, "It sounded like a ghost! You know that they claim that some Communards were buried alive down there last spring when they had been planting some stores of dynamite that exploded."

'His partner promptly dismissed that thought, "There are no such things as ghosts. It is probably coming from outside, Poligny. Some angry dog or something."

"But the noise sounded like it came from a man and it was coming from close by, Debienne."

'When I heard that I could not resist, "You both are arrogant fools that you refuse to review this man's work. This theatre is not worthy of his genius." I told them, throwing my voice like I used to when I was with the gypsies.'

"That was no dog, Debienne," Poligny exclaimed fearfully.'

'Nadir looked annoyed, he knew exactly who this ghost was. He thought my little joke to be childish.'

"Your current opera's grate upon my ears," I told them again. "And your diva La Carlotta caws like a crow. She is not worthy to sing any opera, let alone one as rich as the one that the Persian has brought you. Leave these gentleman now Monsieur Khan, they are not worth your valuable time," I ordered.'

'Debienne looked at Monsieur Khan suspiciously, "You have hired someone to scare us into paying for this work."

'Nadir looked at them angrily, "I have done nothing of the sort, but your 'ghost' is right you are not worthy of this work, or my patronage," he told them.'

'He stood up to leave, "I will show my way out Messieurs."

'I couldn't resist; I used my favorite showman's voice and cackled fearfully.

Both men glanced at one another in fear; the Daroga rolled his eyes knowing exactly who their 'ghost' was. He had inadvertently left a copy of my opera in their office which would prove to be a mistake, they stole my opera from me and slightly changed the theme and the music to _Antoine et Cleopatre_ but I recognized my authorship and vowed to make them pay. In the meantime when the Daroga left the office, I pounced on him like a cat, and requested that he follow me. In my prowling I had discovered what I felt to be a perfect place for me to live. I had discovered that the theatre had been built over a subterranean lake and some old Roman homes, and catacombs like much of the central part of Paris. Rather than destroy the old Roman city, the successive generations simply built over them until they had all but been forgotten. Some Communards, the ones that Monsieur Poligny were referring to had discovered them and stored weapons and dynamite there, the year before much of it had remained untouched after an explosion had collapsed part of the structure. It did not harm the integrity of the structure above, and I knew that I could make it both safe and habitable for me. Monsieur Khan was not enamored of the idea.'

'We had moved into a nice flat on the Rue Tivoli several blocks away from the Palais Garnier. But the three of us were accustomed to living in larger and more luxurious spaces together not a small flat, and every time Darius saw me without my mask his face would turn green and then white with disgust, even though he no longer feared me, and indeed rather liked me.

I still would not acknowledge a friendship with either man, but would characterize our relationship as a 'marriage of convenience' between three men with mutually beneficial needs. My doing so infuriated Nadir who felt that after all these years together, and the several times that we had each saved one another's lives should have proven even to me that we were more than allies. But in my heart I considered myself to be unworthy of any sort of friendship and would not give in to his cajoling that I call him _'doostam'_ or friend.' He believed my reluctance to be based on other considerations; that even after all that we had been through that I did not trust him. I could not iterate the fact that to the very dregs of my soul I believed that I was undeserving of him. Yet he constantly pushed me to be better than who and what I believed myself to be.'

I gleefully showed him an opening to the world beneath the opera house, my own underworld where I could reign as King, like Pluto himself. Torch in hand. I brought him down through a putrid, and rat infested labyrinth to the ancient lake buried all the way at the bottom, and looked to him for voice his approval.'

'I waved my torch around like a wand and exclaimed to him enthusiastically, "Isn't this the perfect place?"

'He raised an eyebrow skeptically, "A perfect place for what Erik? To bury the dead?"

I looked at him in disappointment knowing that he did not see it as I did,

"No Persian, as my new home. Don't you see it? How can you not."

The Persian shook his head no, "It looks like one of Nasser's dungeons, no sorry, worse than that because they are not cold and fetid like this place. At least in his dungeons light can penetrate the darkness a little bit. Here it is pitch black and terrible. This looks like a prison cell Erik, no one, not even you can survive in a place like this for long without going mad."

'I sighed in disappointment and then addressed him, like a parent chastising a naughty child; "I can turn this into my own place, a lair of sorts for the beast. Henceforth, I shall be like one of those phantoms that those two fool managers were talking about. I can build myself a house down here and expand the labyrinth, and make it my own. No one would ever dare find his way down here, for it is too far down and two dark and intimidating for anyone with any sense to venture down to. No one will ever sneer at me again, or run in fear from me, or use me to kill or perform. You won't have to worry about me any more. You can go back to Persia if it pleases you. I am sure that Nasser would forgive you."

The Daroga responded angrily, "I don't care if he would. I not see that future for you Erik. This would not be the place that I envision for you. It is bad enough that you have withdrawn mentally from humanity, setting yourself apart from the rest of us in that manner, but now you want to physically imprison yourself in a dark, dank prison, and shut yourself off from all of us. You have so much to offer the world but not holed up down here like all those rats that we encountered on the way to this horrible place."

I laughed, "Not all of you Persia. If you are foolish enough to remain in Paris, I shall let you and Darius visit. I will need supplies and perhaps a game of chess now and then, and I shall even come up to visit you at times. Besides there will be an opera house full of people and I can listen to the operas from behind the walls like I did with the managers earlier today. If you would want to do so, perhaps once in a while you can buy a box and I will join you there."

"And what else would you do? Play at being a ghost again, like you did earlier? Scare the cast and the patrons like a child playing a game?" The Persian averred scornfully.

"An excellent plan, Persian." I mocked. At the time I did not intend on doing so, but, as I thought about it, I realized that it might provide me with a little bit of entertainment, to chase away the tedium; once I had settled in, and made the cellar my home."

"The worst idea ever Erik. While you're at it, why not buy yourself a coffin and bury your body here, forever trapped in the darkness of hell?" Nadir admonished.

I laughed, "Another excellent idea, Daroga. I didn't know that you had such a keen eye for decorating. I shall surely consult you on this and all other decorating matters. You have an almost womanly touch. We will have to figure out how to get an organ down here as well as a coffin. The acoustics will be amazing. Best of all I will not have either you or Darius, or the pesky neighbors hounding me to stop playing at night so that you can get your precious sleep. I can sleep for the scant two hours that I require and compose a new masterpiece while I am down here. I have always wished that if your Allah had given me a handsome face that I could be a Don Juan, like in that Spanish book. That the women would all swoon over me and extol my virtues. I can compose and pretend to be him, with my very own Princess Aminta to seduce. With Don Juan and Aminta as company I will never be lonely again."

The Persian dismissed the idea completely, "I don't see how you will be able to see in the dark so that you would be able to compose. It will take a thousand candles or more just to illuminate such a vast space."

"Another great decorating idea. I shall definitely have them along with some large oil lamps and lanterns, maybe some in the Persian style." I remarked, "This place will be heavenly for me. I will never again have to suffer any abuse from another human in my life. I can retire into the darkness forever until I die." I chuckled to myself, "I will sleep in a coffin just as you suggested that way when I die alone, I will be right where I need to be in my own underground crypt. In the meantime will be one with my fellow corpses. They shall not mind having me down here. Maybe I will even keep some of those ghosts that the managers were talking about company, and them me."

Nadir glanced at me as if he questioned my sanity, "You know darn well that I do not believe in ghosts. You are only in your twenties, you have many years to go yet before you have to worry about death, although I admit that a year or so in this damp and cold environment might bring on your death much sooner. Seriously _doostam_ this is a bad idea. This place is a prison not a home. You are not dead, you need to be among the living."

I know that I gave him a vicious glare I was really getting annoyed, "What business is it of yours where I choose to put my loathsome presence? Who appointed you to be my guardian? Did I ask you to save me from the Shah? Yet you insisted upon doing so as if you truly believed that you could save me, a demon from hell. This place is exactly what I deserve where I belong and you can either help me move into it, or I will hire others to help me and then kill them so they cannot tell anyone else where I live."

"You would not kill them?" The Persian replied as both a question and as an unspoken threat that he would act against me should I choose to do so.'

'I wouldn't have done so, even I was not that vicious, but I wanted him to believe that I was to get him to do so. I took out my Punjab lasso and caressed it lovingly, like I might have touch a woman if I had thought myself fortunate to ever have one.'

"Do you honestly believe that a man as hideous as I am is not capable of doing something like that? I am not the benign, benighted soul that you believe me to be. I never have been Persian. You just insist upon believing that you can snap your fingers like Aladdin did and I will turn into someone kind and as gentle as a lamb. But I am not a lamb to be sacrificed to the whims of man, Daroga. I am a repulsive, hideous assassin, who mindlessly killed at least thousand men in your own country. What are one or two more?" I asked him menacingly, "I will be in hell when I die either way when I die."

"I will help you, and despite what you say I do believe that someone else resides inside of you, perhaps imprisoned beneath this layer of invincibility that you have erected around yourself to keep yourself from harm, but it is there. You do not fool me, I know that it is there." Nadir insisted.'

"I, of course, would never admit not even to him that that there was a core of decency behind my ferocious façade. How could I admit to him what I did not believe of myself? In my own eyes I was a monster and nothing more. I had done little of value but build a couple of beautiful palaces in the east and even my pride in doing that had long since faded. I would never truly get what I wanted which was a loving family."

'Erik stopped speaking for a moment, once again flush with his intense feeling of despair. He had wrapped himself so deeply into the story that he had forgotten where and when it was. It all came back to him as if he were still there and two decades had not yet passed. A tear ran down his unmasked cheek as he felt that old pain for a moment. All three of his listeners moved close to him and embraced him simultaneously breaking the past's dark hold upon his mind.'

Christine spoke for all of them, "You have your family that you wanted now mon amour. We all love you."

Gustave and Meg agreed in unison, "We think that you are the best father ever."

"Even after all the bad things that you have heard about so far?" Erik asked, almost fearfully.

Gustave exclaimed, "You are not like that any more, and even if you were you had reasons for acting as you did."

"No Gustave. I will not excuse what I did nor should any of you. You may forgive me, but you must never say that I had justifiable reasons for behaving as I did. I was mistaken and wrong, my soul was dark and distorted, as terrible as my face. I had to put myself, and others, through hell before I understood that I had to change, that the Persian had been right and I had to free my soul from the dark place where I had put it. Yet even now, although ultimately fate saw fit to grant me what I always wanted, if I could I would turn back the hands of time, and refrain from making the mistakes that I did. I would gladly do so if it had protected the innocent that I harmed. But I cannot do so, so I can only, strive never to make the same mistakes again and teach you and your sister not to act as I did." Erik told him.

"I will not act in that fashion Father," Gustave assured him.

"Good." Erik replied. "Shall I continue?"

They all agreed as one, "Yes."

"Well let's take a short break for now. I am sure that your mother has made us something special." Erik told them.

Christine smiled, "Of course, I am ready to make you crepes. I have already gathered all of the ingredients and lit the stove to cook them."

Erik smiled, "You are too good to me. You know darn well that crepes are my favorite Norman delicacy. You haven't made them in a while. You will yet succeed in fattening me up."

Christine laughed, "Hardly. You are still too thin, that is why I make these dishes."

Erik gave her a grateful kiss, "I still haven't figured out what I have done to deserve you."

"You always did deserve me, it is I who was not worthy of you." Christine told him.

"We will never agree on that issue, even though we have resolved all of the others," Erik replied silkily, "Never."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14.

Despite the fact that the process could be time consuming, Christine enjoyed making crepes for her family, especially for Erik. She still believed that Erik was far too thin and if she served them Erik never failed to finish his meal and sometimes even hers. Gustave and Meg were thin as well, but had a voracious appetite. She often wondered how Erik had both survived his time with the gypsies for so long and become so physically strong, when he almost never was allowed meat by them unless everyone else in the encampment had rejected it. She loved to spoil her husband in any way that she could, knowing how terrible that his life had been for so long. It was the least that he could do for a man who had been so undeserving of the fate that humanity had condemned him to endure.

After the crepes were served, Erik gathered the courage to continue the story. Even after all of these years it was not easy to accept that he had eventually lapsed into insanity, and harmed others in the process of doing so. He had retained his sanity for so many years, and thru many trials, yet his obsessive love one petite woman was the catalyst for all of it. He glanced at his wife's still perfect features, and warm smile and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if it would mean that he would have his family, and this beautiful woman to willingly love him that he would endure the indignity of insanity again, he would travel to hell and do battle with the devil himself for a single willing kiss from his beloved Christine, which is exactly what he had to do.

He sighed, to help clear his thoughts and began, "Almost a year passed since we had arrived in Paris, and with the help of the two Persians, I was able to settle into the bowels of the theatre. When I was done 'decorating' I was pleased with my work, even Nadir reluctantly admitted that I made the cellar look habitable, indeed palatial even in his mind. To serve my many needs, I was able to expropriate a real Venetian Gondola, from a recently concluded Opera. The boat had become a liability for the Opera House and therefore to my thinking it was mine for the taking. I helped myself to it and used it to ferry supplies back and forth across the lake. Caesar also was employed to haul other materials down all those levels. I spent some of my time widening the pre-existing network of tunnels so that I could better utilize him to help me build it. Both the Romans and them very recent construction of the Palais Garnier had made the soil and debris inside of them fairly easy to remove with the proper equipment, especially after I masqueraded as one of the managers of the theatre and convinced an excavation company to come in to covertly to remove it. I told them truthfully them that the Communards dynamite stores had blown part of the structure away and had made the foundations of the building unstable. I paid them well for their silence in doing their job.'

'I begged them to keep in mind that if word got out about the instability of the building, there would be a panic and we would be forced to shut down. The owner of the company assured me that he and his workers were the very model of discretion. Of course a visit from a certain ghost in the middle of the night, helped to reinforce that discretion. I was never one to trust assurances from anyone's word alone. My past had already been riddled with betrayal, so naturally a combination of bribery, lies and threats served to insure their silence. Once they were finished I was able to build my home and furnish it comfortably. Nadir was naturally distressed that I took his 'suggestion' and furnished my chamber with a coffin. I assured him that it was the 'finest coffin that a well heeled gentleman could own.' I had the coffin maker's assurance that my 'father' would rest comfortably until the end of time. Of course he had no idea that the man in the dark cape and hood, was the man who was to be using it and as he had promised it was finely crafted using only the most comfortable furnishings, definitely fit for a king, or at least for a phantom."

Meg cut in, "Wasn't it scary to sleep in a coffin?"

I smiled back, "Not really, no worse than staring in the mirror at my own hideous face. I felt at home in there, in my mind it was my natural environment."

"But I love your face, Father," she told him sweetly.

"That is because you were made to love it Meg, by design. It was not like I could change it to something handsome just for you and your brother's sake. It was your mother's idea that both you and your brother be exposed to my bare face from birth, so it would not appear to be hideous to you, but surely you must know by now that it is," Erik explained.

"No Father I still don't think that it is hideous. It is unusual compared to other men's faces but I consider it to be no worse than anyone else's," Meg insisted. "It doesn't bother me that you have no hair either. I understand why you would wear a mask when we are out but I do not understand why you feel the need to wear a wig. Many of my friend's fathers are almost as bald as you are, so it is quite normal as well."

Erik smiled, "Well it was very abnormal when I was a child, and even when I was a young man, but I guess that now that I old I have sort have grown into my bald head. Yet since your mother is so much younger than me and still quite beautiful, I don't want any other men to get the idea that they could win her away from me. At least I don't wear either my mask or my wig when we are alone any longer, like now."

Christine reached over to her husband and placed a kiss on his damaged cheek, "I love my 'old man'. There is not a chance in the world that any man could steal me away from you, no matter what the temptation."

"Well it happened once before my love, and I don't want even the remotest chance of you changing your mind," Erik replied with a smile.

"That was because I did not yet know you, I know you very intimately now, ange, and I love every bit of you," Christine replied.

"Even my terrible temper?" Erik asked gently.

Christine nodded yes, "Of course even that. But you have settled down in recent years."

Erik turned to his children and remarked, "And they say that love is blind. Before I convinced your mother to love me, I never understood the rightness of that old adage, but now I understand."

Erik put his arms around Christine, claiming her as his, and then resumed his story.

"I settled into my underground lair, planning only to appear upstairs to listen to an occasional performance. At times I was subjected to listening when I did not necessarily want to, and found that the Opera Populaire made many unacceptable mistakes in their technique. I came to believe that they were resting on their laurels and had allowed the quality of their productions to lag. Mix in my bitterness at the managers' scornful rejection of my opera, and my anger grew. Yet, in the beginning, I had contented myself with silently putting up with their mistakes; after all I was getting to listen for free. I had constructed my lair and moved in without paying any sort of rent, and, when all was quiet, I roamed the halls. I occasionally helped myself to a sandwich or two. They did not miss the food; I usually swiped it, after they had served everyone else. They did not appear to mind or even notice that I had done so. My talent for sleight of hand made it simply vanish into thin air and then into my stomach. "

Gustave interrupted, "But that was stealing Father. You taught us never to do so. Weren't you afraid of getting caught and punished?"

Erik shrugged, "Not Really. Don't forget I spent my early teenage years as a thief; I had little choice since I was living on the fringes of human society. I was more like a scavenger animal than a human being,"

"But that was different, you said that you were rich, you could afford to pay for food." Gustave told him.

Erik shot his son an amused glance, "You have forgiven me for killing my master, and being the Shah's executioner, but not for stealing sandwiches?

I said that I did so only occasionally and I meant it. It wasn't like I could go outside into the world like a normal man. I had to eat and it was difficult for me to go out and buy my own food. Nadir would not always resupply me in a timely fashion."

"But it is not the same, you killed a man who was abusing you, and you had a job as an executioner. It is not a job that I would choose no matter what the circumstances but it was a job, like being a policeman. It was not your job to judge whether or not they were guilty," Gustave explained.

"But I designed and built torture chambers for the Shah." Erik reminded him.

"That is the hardest to forgive, but the Shah accepted you, which was more than anyone else did at the time, and he would have had them built anyhow. I mean it wasn't like torturing those people was your idea, was it?" Gustave asked.

"No, son they had tortured people long before I worked for the job, and I would guess that they are still doing so. Torture was part of their culture, just like it was once, not too long ago part of ours." Erik admitted. He then continued the story.

"Anyhow, around six months or so after I settled in, I was making one of my nocturnal rounds about the city to catch some fresh air, ducking through alleys, when I heard a shrill woman's cry of terror. I had heard that sound many times before, and felt my face to make sure that my mask was in place and that my hood was on my head hiding my hideousness from view. A moment later, I realized that the scream had nothing to do with me. I saw a group of three men standing over the body of an obviously dead man, lying in a pool of blood. One of the brigands had removed his pants, with the intent to rape a woman right in front of her young child, a little girl no older than three years of age. I was appalled at these men for doing such a monstrous thing and there being no one else around to come to the woman's aid, I reluctantly stepped in to do so. Quickly and covertly I employed my Punjab lasso against the man who was obviously the murderer. He was still wiping his knife clean of the dead man's blood. As I had been trained to do, I broke his neck in an instant and he crumbled lifelessly to the ground, falling into the pool of his victim's blood. There were still two more and the element of surprise was gone, yet before he could react, I leapt upon the man who was intending on raping the woman and fought him fiercely. After a few minutes where we were scuffling I was able to get a good grip on his neck; finally using my bare hands to kill him.

While I was grappling with the second man, the third man pulled out a knife and plunged it right into my side. I could feel the pain gripping me. I could see him coiling his wrist, like a rattlesnake ready to strike, and yet did not have a chance to react fast enough to deflect the oncoming death blow. Suddenly, without warning, he fell to the ground with his friend's knife lodged in his back. He got up and ran away, still with the knife in his back, leaving a trail of blood behind him. The woman that I had rescued had stabbed him and was now hovering over me. I half expected her to dispatch me due to the sudden look of both terror and disgust that ensued.'

Out of the corner of my eye I could see that my mask and wig had fallen off in the fray and no longer shielded my face from her view. She suddenly reversed her approach, and backed away from me in fear. Her eyes were dilated in both shock and horror as she could see my hideous face. I expected that it would be the end of our relationship, and that she would flee from me as fast as her legs would carry her. I was positive that not even the fact that I had rescued her and her child would sway her to stay and tend to me. But I was wrong about her; her fearful look changed to one of compassion, and then understanding that I had been gravely wounded. She tore a piece of cloth from her undergarment, and applied it to my wound to try to stem the bleeding but to little avail. I tried to get up to flee, but felt too weak to do so; I fell back to onto the cobblestones. I could hear some noises, and then faded away into sweet and blessed darkness. I did not mind the thought of dying. I have never feared death as an enemy but more as a friend who would come to my rescue and grant me the peace that I was so desirous of. I thought that perhaps, at last, my time had come to leave this harsh unfeeling world behind and be relieved of the burden of living with my face. But my time to die had not yet come to pass. My death was not fated to come to pass just yet. I found out later that the gendarmes had found all of us and without asking the woman what had happened they were upon my unconscious form. At first wanted to arrest me, believing a man that looked like me must have been a confederate of theirs, but the woman finally was given the chance to explain. I was then transported to a hospital, where I remained only until I could be stabilized.'

'Once my wound was bandaged, there was no nurse was willing to take care of me. They were all terrified of my face, and could not bring themselves to touch me. But, to my surprise, the woman that I had rescued showed up to ascertain my fate. I could vaguely make out her discussion with my doctor. He asked if she were willing to take care of me. I was conscious, but too weak to speak, I could see a look of terror cross her face as she looked at mine. But like before it was replaced acceptance. She looked at me again, one last time, staring straight into my eyes, as if to read into my soul, and then looked back at the doctor and nodded her assent to doing so. An ambulance brought me to her humble lodging. I was left in a chamber with plenty of bandages, and some opium, and a substance called Heroin to deaden my pain. I must have slept for several days because I had lost a lot of blood and felt so weak and distant, as if still hovering between life and death. I vaguely remember the woman standing over me, yet not daring to look to closely. She gently wiped the sweat from my hideous face and applied cold compresses to cool my fever. When she saw me open my eyes she dropped her tray and backed off, as far from me as she could possibly be. I know that I still terrorized her with my horrible face most likely looking very threatening.

"You won't hurt me Monsieur? Will you? I have been taking care of you," she asked me, her voice dripping with fear.

"Of course not Madame. I came to your aid didn't I?" I asked, feeling very hurt but not surprised that she could think something like that of me after I saved both her and her child.

She saw my expression and her voice turned apologetic, "It is only that you appear so…uh…different… from other men," she told me.

"You mean that I am hideous, yes I know that very clearly." I told her, the hurt was lacing my voice.

"I am sorry Monsieur for my manner, it is most rude of me, after all that you have done for my daughter Meg and I. I am most grateful to you for coming to our aid. You see we were walking home from the theatre, where my husband and I work, and were attacked by a gang of ruffians. They killed my Jean Claude…" she added tearfully.

I could not sustain my hurt, she had suffered greatly, and somehow I understood that she had suffered a great loss and did not need my anger. Her reaction had been better than any one else's save Nadir. "I am sorry Madame. I wish that I had come upon you a moment earlier and could have saved him for you and your lovely daughter."

She sniffled more at the thought of her husband's fate. I noticed that she was dressed in severe black mourning clothes, "At least you came and helped us. Others must have heard us and yet just walked by, minding their own business while Jean Claude tried to get us to safety. The gendarmes did finally come at someone's beckoning, but they would have been too late had you not come to our rescue. You were very brave to take on three of them when there was only one of you. I owe you a debt of gratitude."

I dismissed it completely, "You owe me nothing Madame. I could not stand by and let them do that to you, especially not in front of your poor daughter. Is she alright?"

The woman smiled, "My Meg is shaken up at losing her father like that but she is resilient. She has always been a cheerful little thing just like my husband was. Unlike me, she and Jean Claude always looked at the bright side of a matter, never stopping to complain if life brought challenges to us."

Meg cut in, "Is her Meg the woman who I was named for?"

Erik replied, "Yes of course. She grew up to become your mother's very best friend. I know that even now that she still misses her," Erik remarked looking at his wife.

Christine met his gaze, "Of course I do, but I know that she is doing well, she is a Baronne now."

"I am named for a Baronne?" Meg asked excitedly.

Christine laughed, "Yes darling, but she was not so grand growing up. She was a mere Mademoiselle like me. We lived together for many years. Her mother was my foster mother after my father died. Your father introduced Meg to her husband, the Baron, as a favor to her mother. They fell in love almost immediately."

Meg turned to her father, "How romantic. I did not know that you could play cupid like that."

Erik smiled, "I have many secret talents little one, matchmaking is not one of them. I found her a fine suitor because I had promised her mother that I would make Meg an Empress for her mother's years of loyal service to me. She had to suffice with a mere Baron but still it propelled her into the front ranks of society. We read of her occasionally when we get our edition of _L'Epoch_ in the mail."

Meg smiled, "I love that paper. It has all of the latest Paris fashions, and such glamorous photographs of important people."

Erik laughed heartily and turned to his wife, "She has a lot in common with her namesake with her love of finery and gossip. Perhaps there is something about the name Marguerite that brings out the frivolous side in its bearer."

Christine teased, "No there is something about a doting father that brings out the material side in all young girls. You deny our daughter nothing, nor our son for that matter or even me."

Erik smiled brilliantly, "It is my prerogative to do so. When I was younger I always wanted to have a family to cosset, love and spoil. You would not deny a man his pleasure would you?"

Christine laughed melodiously, "We will happily make 'the sacrifice' for you if you insist, mon amour, provided that you let us do the same for you once in a while at least."

Erik replied lightly, "You already do spoil me ange, all of you do by giving me my deepest most secret desires by your mere existence, and feelings of love for me. A loving family was all that I ever craved, that I still craved. I need no other frivolities other than that treasure."

"You do not have to ask us for that, it is freely given." Christine reassured him.

Erik sighed, "I know. Anyhow, I will continue the story. Even after I saved them it took Meg's mother, Antoinette Giry, several days to trust completely the fact that I was not some fiend, but just an ordinary man. They already recognized me as a man of means since my clothing was very fine, but my face put them off. She would enter my room still fearfully, half expecting me to collect my due for helping them. Once she was convinced that I truly had rescued them without any thought of recompense or reward, she would force herself to spend more time tending to me without disgust or fear. Fortunately Antoinette had scooped up my mask and wig from the scene and I was able to put them back on and hide the hideous portion of my face from her. After my mask and wig were finally in place she glanced at me and surveyed my face in surprise.

"You are quite handsome when you cover the bad part of your face," she exclaimed in surprise. "You look like a handsome outlaw in one of those romance novels that I occasionally read when I want to clear my head of all of my worries," she told me.

"What sort of worries do you have? I mean other than the fact that you just lost your husband?" I asked curiously.

"Well when my husband was alive we barely eked out a living, now we will have to move into the Palais Garnier, to save money but I still won't have enough money to survive and give my daughter a decent life. I wanted more for her than to live as a pauper," she complained.

"I can employ you Madame Giry. I am a man of some means and need a woman to perform such tasks for me such as cleaning my house, running errands for me, darning my clothing, in short things that a wife would normally do for a husband. Due to my unfortunate face, I clearly will never have a wife, and my Persian friend does not know how to do everything for me," I explained. "And you will be living very close to me."

"Is your flat by the Opera House then?" Antoinette asked me innocently.

"Yes, but I don't live in a real house or a flat. They do not afford me enough privacy to suit my need for privacy and safety. You see I have found a place where I can hide away from the world, my own sort of lair. I am not very trusting of people you see. You were lucky that I was feeling the need to catch some fresh air. My home gets very cold and damp, and the air can get stagnant," I explained. "It is not healthy for me never to get outside but I must wait until there is no one much about to move around safely."

"Where in the world do you live that is like that?" she asked.

"I live directly beneath the Opera House in a habitation that I made for myself. I know that it sounds eccentric but you have seen my face, and I can see that you fear me even though I helped you," I explained. "You saw what the hospital did. If you had not come around to check on me, I would have been out on the street and likely have died, simply because I made the staff and the other patients fearful."

"That hardly seems fair. You seem like a good man," she told me.

"No Madame, I am not a good man. I do not have that luxury. You saw how easily I could kill, but I would never harm either a woman or a child in any way. Those men were despicable," I explained.

"You are a hard man, but you are a good man. You did not have to risk your life for us and yet you did. I will accept your offer of employment, but you do not even have to pay me. I owe you everything", she insisted strongly and pridefully.

"You owe me nothing Madame, and I will pay you. You just told me that you need the money, and I have money to give you," I replied firmly. "I have only myself to spend it on, and I hardly expect to find someone else to share it with. You will be performing services for me and I will in turn pay you."

'She gave me an odd and fearful look, "You don't mean um…physical services…I'm sorry but I cannot do so, not with y…"

I was wounded by the innuendo that I would suggest such a terrible thing of her, I felt it an assault upon both my honor and dignity that she would think such a terrible thing of me. I had made no advances to her, nor did I have any intent on doing so, I replied with some pique, "I wanted no such service from you Madame, and I take offense that you would believe me to be capable of such a despicable act which I am not. If I had been I certainly would have already done so, there is just you and I and a small child here. I would never impose myself upon a woman like that against her will."

She gave me an apologetic glance, "I am sorry to have implied such a thing. You have been nothing but a gentleman to me, I did not mean to impugn your honor Monsieur."

I let my anger subside and accepted her apology, "It is alright Madame. Perhaps it was my own fault wording my job proposal in such a vague way. I can see where you might have misinterpreted my offer."

"Thank you for your understanding Monsieur. You may call me Antoinette," she told me, "I am only thirty five years of age, not yet an old lady."

I sighed, "You may call me Erik."

"If you live beneath the opera house you must be the so-called ghost. I dismissed the rumors of a ghost as rubbish, but now I have an explanation. Even the managers believe that there is some sort of phantom that haunts the theatre. Rumor has it that one spoke to them around a year ago, his voice came right into the room as if the ghost was standing beside them," she told me.

I smirked, "Yes that was me. They deserved my scorn. I tried to sell them my opera and they told my agent that it was trash."

She looked at me confidentially, "Well you know they are going to produce your opera, but they have changed some of the songs a little bit as well as both the title and theme. You situated your opera in Persia and theirs takes place in ancient Egypt and Rome. My friend is a typist and she told me so. They were very smug about the whole thing. They believe that the 'phantom writer' will never know."

"That was my opera for sure, and the so-called phantom writer would have found out anyhow," I exclaimed angrily. "I will make them pay me for my work."

"They won't they have done this before. They make thousands of francs at the expense of poor writers, and even have the gall to sue _them_ for plagiarism if they do get another theatre to perform it. They always prevail because, after all, who would believe that the managers of the vaunted Opera Populaire are little better than common criminals? Besides most of the patrons are very well situated in Parisian society. Even now, when France is again a republic and where everyone is supposed to be equal, no one wishes to offend the wealthy. In the meantime they rob the poor," she explained bitterly.

I seethed with anger, "They will not get away from it this time. Their 'so-called Phantom writer' will exact a price from them if they dare follow through on their plans and perform my work."

You will lose Erik. I have seen others try to stop them, yet they always win. They have half of Paris in their pocket; they give them the best seats to the performances. They have reserved a whole box, box five, the very best box in the house to use just to bribe them all and it works. They have been doing it that way for more than twenty years," she explained.

"We shall see," I told her, "I am a lot more inventive than those other poor composers. I can be quite terrifying when I choose to be."

She glanced my face and cringed, knowing full well exactly what lie beneath my mask and swallowed, "Some how I can see that."

I chuckled, "Perhaps there might be a job for me there at the opera house after all. Perhaps I shall become a Phantom. I will surely haunt them if they truly persist in stealing my opera and I will force them to pay a hefty price, far exceeding what I was asking for originally. After all they have reparations to make for their previous crimes. Twenty years is a long time to rob people and get away with it."

'Our eyes met, and we both laughed at the thought of it, a sort of Robin Hood ghost defending the poor, who had been so exploited. We drank a toast to this new 'Phantom persona' who we had just given birth to, and clanked glasses to seal our little enterprise. I had made a new and formidable ally at the Palais Garnier; between us we would become the new masters of the Opera Populaire. We vowed to make it a better place, to perhaps eventually to drive the two crooks that ran it away; to be replaced by other managers who could be more malleable, more capable of running the opera in a proper manner, or at least not getting in our way of doing so. "


	15. Chapter 15

Ok, here is another chapter. Even though this story is not as well read as some of my others and I really do need to work on a novel that I can sell. I am getting hooked on writing this story because it is so much fun to retell Erik's 'true' story and not the sensationalized one that you all have been given. Lol. I wish...So without further ado here is the next chapter only three days after the last one.

Chapter 15

Erik paused to decide where to continue his story. His family was still engrossed in listening to his melodic voice, even Christine who had heard almost all of it before, but in only pieces, never as a whole. He was not sure if he had ever told her how he had become the Phantom of the Opera. By the time she arrived to become Antoinette Giry's ward, he had already assumed that fearsome role. For once in his narrative, what he was about to tell them, was not anything terrible that either he did or that someone did to him and he felt that he could relax a little. He still could feel the echoes of the laughter that he had once shared with Antoinette Giry, during those long ago days. In those early days nothing yet had ever come between them. While the Daroga had been his first real friend, his relationship with Antoinette Giry was of a completely different nature. She taught him how to laugh, and play harmless yet amusing tricks on people, not for the sake of intimidating people, but just for the sake of having fun.

'Prior to his relationship with Antoinette Giry, he had seen people laugh together over some sort of joke, and longed to be included in whatever joke that it was that they were sharing, even as a victim. But up to that point no one had ever looked at his face and thought about doing anything but retreating from him in fear, not even the Persian. Sure, he had been the subject of jokes, the gypsies loved to laugh at the expense of his dignity, the Shah as well, but those jokes shot daggers into his heart each one of them penetrating the armor of indifference that he had unsuccessfully put up to shield himself. He had always wanted to have people laugh with him and not at him; but of all of the people that he had met, only Antoinette was willing to offer him entry into that circle, which seemed to include everyone but him. Up to that point in time, Nadir had always been much too serious with him to allow such fraternizing. Perhaps that was why he had so readily been willing to call her 'friend' and not the Persian. Antoinette was willing to laugh with him, and how he loved to laugh once he had discovered the joys of humor.

Perhaps it was the fact that they were both French, or that she was a woman, or that from the beginning of their relationship she had seen his face, and therefore his face never truly came between them, but his relationship with Antoinette Giry was transformative for him. It was the first relationship ever that did not start out with fear or was unequal in some insurmountable way. Erik had been of service to Antoinette and her daughter and vice versa. There were to be later trials and tribulations between them, as his mental state began to deteriorate; but in the beginning their relationship was pure bliss for him, he had finally found a true friend and ally after a lifetime of searching. Who would have guessed that his decision not to stay on the sidelines and to intervene to save both Antoinette and her daughter would have such delightful consequences? In some ways it lead him to this very point in his life, where he would be surrounded by love and a family but not before he travel to hell and back.

A crooked smile affixed itself firmly on his bloated lips as he recalled the beginning of their collaboration to his family. He took a deep breath and continued, "In the days that followed my return to consciousness, Antoinette had lost almost all of her fear of me. My mask and wig covered up my physical deformities that had previously caused her to keep me at arm's length. Instead, to both my surprise and delight, she began to view me as a friend. She would come into my sickroom cheerfully humming a tune and gave me a broadening smile. She actually had begun to enjoy taking care of me, rather than seeing my care as an obligation. It gave her something to do to keep her mind off of the recent senseless murder of her husband, and her own brush with death. She was certain that if I had not come along to save her and Meg, she would not only have endured being raped but also being murdered. They never would have permitted her to live to describe her husband's murderers. They had not even attempted to hide their faces from her because they had assumed that she would be unable to identify them; dead people do not talk.'

'She and I truly enjoyed one another's company; even if neither one of us felt any sort of romantic interest in the other. She was older than me and in mourning, and I had taken a solemn vow to dedicate my passion to music and nothing else. Music had become my Church and I had become a priest. If a Catholic priest could curb his physical urges then so could I. Besides I had already accepted as fact that a woman never would or ever could love a man who was as hideous as I was. Thus we developed a friendship. It was a bond based on mutual need and common interests. We had both been ill used by the world, yet wanted to have a real purpose other than just going about the motions of life. Of course we both shared a love for the arts, and music and had many tastes in common. Newly widowed, Antoinette needed a man around, to both guide her and protect her in an otherwise dangerous world for a single mother with a young child. She had no friends or family that she could count on, and neither did I, so we agreed to count upon the other. For a long time we did just that. I helped her navigate through the rocky shoals that society had inflicted on single mothers, and she helped me with matters that not even my Persian friend could attend to.'

At that time, the war with the Prussians, the fall of the Empire, and then the rise and fall of Communards had rendered many in Paris barely able to eat. Homeless former soldiers roamed the streets of the city stalking the weak for prey; those sorts of men had attacked the Girys. Shortages of food and clothing were still rampant. Once I was able to conclude my rehabilitation from my injury, I was able to provide protection while she purchased supplies, with my monetary help. The city was still hungry and dangerous particularly at night, and took on a sinister bent. Perhaps that was what drew Antoinette to me initially, my own sinister aura. Perhaps the desperate postwar days called for unusual measures, but we all were forced to see to our own security, and did not yet have the luxury of helping others. Antoinette needed me to help her through that dark time, and I wanted her as well. It appealed to my desperate need to find a place in the world, that someone was willing to grant one to me. For the first time in my life, I found a semblance of a family who looked to me for protection, and not for protection against me. For once I felt like I was human and not some alien monster. I was able help her pack up her home and all of her meager possessions, knowing that she could no longer stay there. As we worked together, we would open up our thoughts and dreams to one another and made plans for our collaboration in the future.'

"If things had been different Erik, you might have made a fine Operatic singer. I have never met a man with a more mesmerizing voice than yours. I could listen to you speak all day," she admitted to me. "And when I gaze into your eyes, I can almost forget about the bad side of your face. You would make someone a fine husband, not for me of course but…"

I interrupted her; "I will never have a wife Antoinette, not because I would not want one, but because I have learned to face up to the fact that no woman in their right mind would ever want me as a husband. Furthermore, I would have never joined an Opera Company either. I have no need to exhibit myself on stage, Antoinette. I spent my childhood being exhibited like an animal in a zoo." I then proceeded to tell her my story up to that point in time and, to my surprise, she began to cry for me. She truly shed tears for my dark fate, something that I had never seen anyone do for me before." Erik recalled, with awe as if reliving that moment.

"For me that was cathartic to explain everything to her, no one had ever taken the time to listen to me not even Nadir. Our eyes met and I could feel the sympathy pouring out of her. She could not bring herself to embrace me that was a line that we would never cross together. I was simply too hideous to break through that physical barrier, but I didn't care. The point was that she had cried real and genuine tears for me, and truly saw me in a sympathetic fashion, and not as a brutish beast or monster. At the time I had an aversion to touch since I could not ever recall a single moment where such a feeling had been pleasant. I had always been touched in anger, or by accident, never to receive either pleasure or comfort from anyone.'

All three of his family members reached over to embrace Erik, to remind him once again how much that had changed for him. Then Meg and Christine each settled into one side of him, he could feel their warmth upon his body. For a moment he closed his eyes, enjoying the warm sensation from their affectionate touch. He loved the feeling of being touched now. He hugged both girls and resumed his narrative,

'When I finished talking we changed the subject to more pleasant matters, yet eventually the conversation moved on to her past, which had also been tragic. I listened sympathetically as she told me her own story and why she had been relegated to being a simple box keeper at the opera house, little better than a maid. Antoinette had once been a promising ballerina, she had become a star for the ballet, when she tripped over a loose board in the stage, and fell in an awkward position injuring her knee. The dancers had repeatedly complained about the condition of the stage, but to no avail, the managers preferred to save the money that should have been set aside for its repair and greedily used it to line their own pockets. They claimed that the recent war had rendered their coffers barren, and that was their excuse for everything. Yet she notice that the managers wore the finest clothing, smoke imported Cuban cigars, and bought their mistresses gold and diamond baubles. She knew how they got the money, through bilking the opera out of everything. So she was forced to dance on that rickety stage where she succumbed to a catastrophic career ending injury.'

'Once she had ruptured her knee, Antoinette would never be able to dance again, or even walk about freely without pain. She had to walk with a cane most of the time. Following her injury, she tried to convince the managers to give her the job of ballet mistress, which had become available just prior to her injury, but had to suffice with being a box keeper instead. To be a box keeper was a complete waste of her skill as a teacher, and of her passion and talent, not to mention a humiliation for a woman who was once adored by the audiences, and had contributed much to the past glories of the company. But the managers showed her little compassion or loyalty. For the 'privilege' of becoming a box keeper she had to hand over most of her tip money and any gifts of value to the managers for their self styled 'generosity' in giving her a job. She dared not to refuse, as her husband Gilbert was only drummer, and did not make very much money in his own right.'

'She explained, quite vehemently, "I had been a ballerina since I was in diapers, and had always helped the other dancers perfect their craft; yet when the position of ballet mistress opened, they gave the position to Mademoiselle Devereux, a foolish girl who did not know a _demi pointe_ from an _en pointe_, because she was, at the time, Lefebvre's mistress. It is I who has had to tell her everything. I frequently come down from the boxes and stand beside her during practice so that I might whisper what needed to be done into her ears. It is the only reason that the ballet has not become a joke. The conductor is also a fool, a crony that they hired to save money on salaries. The voice coach spends more time ogling the chorus, than listening to their voices. At the rate that it is going I estimate we have only a year or two left before the Opera Populaire will have to fold due to their greedy style of management."

"This situation will not stand." I vowed, happy for once to have found a real purpose in life, other than merely surviving. With my new ally's help I would make the Opera Populaire adhere to its promise of being the finest opera house in Europe, if not the world. But first we had to wrest control of it from the greedy wretches who were in charge of it. She and I thought of many ways to do so but the plan of using their superstitions against them seemed to be the best way to do so. How else could we get them to listen to a lame ballerina and a disfigured musical genius, who was too hideous to step out of the shadows and reveal himself to the world? I expressed that thought aloud to Antoinette.'

She laughed, "You have such a pitiful way of describing us Erik. Perhaps the world is right to ignore us if we are so pathetic."

"They will not ignore us much longer. I will see to it that we are given our due, and that the Opera Populaire will be restored to its previous glory." I averred.

Antoinette nodded in agreement. She and I then spent hours going over the best approach to achieving our aims, and restoring the Company to its past glory. In the beginning we were very serious, but in the end, we could not help but to laugh at all of our approaches. In laughter we found a pure communion of spirit. We had both badly needed to release our lost hopes and anger in comedy. I needed to shed a lifetime of being scorned, despised and abused; she the pain of losing her ability to perform the art that she had given her life to, and of course she was in mourning for her lost husband. He had been her anchor in her otherwise rough and stormy life, her partner and soul mate, and now he was no more. We had both been rendered powerless against the forces arrayed against us for so long that it was extremely uplifting to finally be able to strike out against our common enemy, and seize the reins of the opera house from them, and remake it in our own image of what it should be. She would be my silent partner in our struggle. I would be our hideous face to the world. We would use my weaknesses and turn them into strength by unleashing the pure shock value of my hideousness upon them.'

'We decided that I would send them a note warning them to end their vile practices. We poured over each and every word of what would become my first of many notes. We tweaked it to achieve its maximum effect upon them. I used my finest penmanship, a skill that I had taught myself while in Italy. I could hardly claim to be intelligent if my writing were to look as childish as it had once been. I wanted to make a favorable impression and thus I devoted copious times in perfecting the fine art of calligraphy. Later on I learned Arabic calligraphy as well. The Persians had taught me that the art of refined calligraphy was the mark of an educated man, a man not to be dismissed out of hand. I needed to gain both their attention and respect. Thus, we sat down together as I wrote assuming the persona of the Opera Ghost for the first time:

Dear Sirs:

In the past few years, I have been most patient with you despite the gradual deterioration of my home under your inept stewardship. I have watched silently as you have hired inferior staff, musicians and singers, robbed aspiring writers of their livelihood while at the same time profiting at the expense of everyone, including me. Yes, me. I have suffered in silence as your company has butchered what should have been the divine language of music and replaced it with a series of scratchy notes masquerading as an opera. You brag to others that your opera house is the best in all of France and yet you blaspheme the great art of music, even as you do so. I have watched as you have cheated aspiring composers by stealing their work and profiteering from their talent, cheating them out of what should be theirs and not yours.

Your selfish actions have become intolerable, and therefore I have decided to take a more active role in the running of my theatre. You are fortunate to have such a talented ghost to haunt the theatre. Most other ghosts would simply sit around and let you destroy it. But I am first and foremost a worshipper of the musical arts, which is why I chose to haunt this theatre in particular following my death. I cannot bear to watch you desecrate my temple of music any longer without consequences. These actions must stop immediately. With or without your cooperation, my theatre will be restored to its former grandeur. I most eagerly look forward to your cooperation, as it is every bit as beneficial to you as to anyone else. If the quality of the performances is increased then surely the enthusiast support of our patrons will not be far behind. As a first step, I demand the following changes, effective immediately:

1. Appoint Madame Antoinette Giry, the current box attendant, as director of the ballet. I have seen her observations on dance and am most impressed with her knowledge. She is much more knowledgeable and talented than your current director. Let's face it; your decision to appoint Mademoiselle Moreau to her current position was not based upon her talent as a teacher but upon her talent in Monsieur Lefebvre's bed.

2. Appoint a professional to run my theatre, it is clear that neither of you know how to do so. A true professional would restore the theatre to its original state of quality. As far as a musical director should go may I suggest that you hire Monsieur Reyer currently the director of the Opera in Monte Carlo. I guarantee you that to do so would not be a gamble. Retaining your current director, Monsieur Leonid Federov, is a form of Russian Roulette. He was obviously sent here from Saint Petersburg in disgrace, best to return the Tsar's 'gift' to him hastily without return of post.

3. Seek out and hire new talents, it is clear that the current stars have none particularly Carlotta, who is resting on her laurels. She once had passable talent, but clearly that time has passed. If you insist on retaining her, for her so-called drawing power, please desist form advertising her as your mezzo-soprano. You may call her a tenor, as her voice is lower than most men's.

4. Pay your composers for their work, and refrain from cheating them. As you have gotten away without doing so for years, I suggest that you pay me a most reasonable sum of f 20,000 per month to be made payable to OG, effective the end of this month. This sum will be used to recompense me for my consulting services which, you will find most valuable once you discover that your theatre will be run in a much smoother manner than it has been up until now. In addition, you will provide me with a private box, specifically box 5, for my exclusive use, so that I might properly assess the improvement, and eventually the maintenance of my theatre to my own standards of quality. You may deliver this sum to Madame Antoinette Giry, who is the only one of your current employees who might be trusted not to pocket it. I have watched her closely enough verify her honesty with this important job. You will allow her and her daughter to live in her own quarters, rent free, so that she might properly devote herself to her new duties, both as ballet mistress, and as my intermediary with you. She will also attend to my box, as I do not trust anyone else to serve in this important position.

5. Should the above terms not prove to be acceptable to you, you both may immediately resign your positions. You have abused your positions here for too long. The only reason that I am giving you a chance to redeem yourselves at all is that it might be a bother to train new managers, when you are so well entrenched here.

Should my demands not be met, you will be made aware of my displeasure. To prove my existence, I will appear before you and the company at my own discretion demonstrating my power. I am sure that once you have had a taste of my displeasure you will see that it is in your best interests that you comply with my short, and reasonable list of terms stated in this letter. Consider it to be a contract for my services. Should my demands be met you will hear nothing more from me, unless I find something new to speak to you about. We are all 'gentlemen' that we find a way to work together for the betterment of my theatre. I look forward to working with you both.

I remain yours Gentleman,

Monsieur O.G. (Opera Ghost for future record)

'When we were finished, Antoinette looked at me and smiled; she was most pleased with our collaboration. I then sent word to Nadir that I needed his help for a 'new' project. I knew that he would come by very soon, as I was sure that he had somehow caught wind of my absence. Of course my intuition was right, the Daroga had been worried about me. He had not heard from me in several weeks, and when he went to see me in my lair there was no sign that I had been there in at least that time. Nadir had proceeded to visit several hospitals in the center of Paris. Finally he was told that a patient meeting my description had been released from the hospital into a 'woman's' custody. Since, in his mind, I could not have made any new friends, particularly not of the female persuasion, he could not understand who would have stepped forward to take charge of me, particularly since he was informed that I had been treated for a serious knife wound that had been sustained in a 'street fight'.

'Nadir was livid when he found out that the hospital had been prepared to toss me out onto the street like trash, until Antoinette came just in time and took me home with her. He found it to be outrageous that a religious institution dedicated to healing the sick would not let me recover there, where I might have received the appropriate care. He could only conclude that I must have bribed the mysterious woman who they claimed had come to take care of me, because he doubted that anyone would do so out of kindness or compassion. He was also told that I had both came in, and been released, without wearing either a mask or a wig, so Nadir knew that I must have looked a fright to all involved. He vowed to them that if I had died that there would be consequences for their cruelty to towards me. The nun, who was the administrator in charge of the nursing staff, gave him a sheepish look but then proceeded to defend their actions, that the needs of one man could not outweigh the needs of their other patients.'

'Nadir replied irately, "You French claim to be so superior to us easterners but we take care of our wounded and do not toss them into the street, simply because they are not pleasant to look at. To think that I once looked up to you and wanted my own country to emulate yours, yet you are just as backwards and 'barbaric' as you claim that we are. Where was your famous sense of Christian charity in my friend's case?" He added scornfully, while eying a crucifix hanging on the wall behind the Mother Superior's head. "Was your treatment of my friend what he would have wanted you to do? Or does your compassion extend only to those who are pleasant to look at?"

'The nun again gave him a sheepish glance, but then defended their actions; "Well what were we supposed to do with your friend? Place him in our morgue like the other dead? Or perhaps send him to a veterinarian? I am sorry, I would have liked to do more for him but the reality was that the man scarcely looked human. He frightened our staff with his skull like head and bloated and distorted corpse-like features. I personally had to care for him while Doctor du Marniere attended to him, none of my other girls would go anywhere near him, even then for me to stay we had to cover his face with a cloth. I have seen corpses that look better than he did. We simply could not have that much disruption in our institution."

"Yet you did not even get an address for him. My friend is a man of means he would have paid you well," the Daroga sneered.'

"We did not want his money any more than we wanted him. We did the right thing and patched him up, and we expect no recompense for our help. We wanted to be done with our association with him in all ways, which means even monetarily," she explained.'

'Nadir stormed out in frustration, wondering what became of me. He next went around to several morgues, to check upon whether or not I had passed on. He could not understand why I had thought to hire help when he and Darius would have taken care of me for free out of friendship. In the not so distant past I had tended to his own life threatening wounds after we had been attacked on the road in Serbia on our way to France from Turkey. In his mind I had insulted him by not letting him return the favor to me. By that time, Nadir had grown frustrated with my refusal to see him as any more than a sometimes nuisance, and not as a friend. In his eyes he had proven himself to me on more than one occasion and had even put up with my hideous bouts of anger, or worse yet depression. My actions made him believe that I valued him, even less than that of a hired nursemaid. The insult was almost too great to bear and might have been the last straw in our relationship, but for the fact that he couldn't find me to express that anger to me. I had simply vanished like the ghost that I was about to become. In truth, at first, I was in no condition to speak to anyone about him. Later, I thought that I was doing him a favor. I still did not see what my value was to him as a friend. In our years together I had brought him nothing but woe, I never understood why he had stood by me for so long, and yet he did until the bitter end." Erik turned away, again reminded of what had happened in his lair.

"When Nadir arrived he immediately looked upon my situation with hurt. He could see that Antoinette and I had developed some sort of rapport, and to my surprise, he appeared to be almost jealous of it. We showed him our letter and explained our intent. He highly disapproved of it, believing that what we were doing was of a criminal nature.'

"Yes, they are robbing the opera blind, and stealing the works of composers for their own gain, but what you propose to do is still criminal, and quite a risk. The fact that they are cheats does not in itself give you the right to extort money from them, and do you honestly believe that you could get a court to side with you? You will most likely be caught and executed as a criminal while the managers will continue to get away with their acts undeterred." Nadir counseled us.'

'I did not want to acknowledge that he could be right. I had resolved to take over the opera house even if I had to perform some criminal acts to assert my power over it. It had become a matter of principle, they had stolen my work, and deprived my friend of what should have been her livelihood and in my mind they deserved to be taken to task for it. They had violated my sense of justice with their own injustices, and I wanted to stop them from doing more. Also, I wanted to see the Opera survive in Paris, and Antoinette was right the quality had suffered and the two managers seemed blissfully oblivious, or even uncaring, to what they were doing.'

'Nadir fumed at my explanation and tried to convince me not to send the letter but to accept matters how they were, that it was none of my business. I refused to listen and sent it. Of course they threw away my note and ignored my demands continuing in their ways. I retaliated by putting on an unbelievable performance as the 'Phantom of the Opera' with my terrible face in full view right front of the company to get them to listen. I summoned every bit of magic and theatrics to convince them that I was what I claimed to be. My performance far out did any that my gypsy masters had ever forced me to put on. They were persuaded by it to give into most of my terms, rather than join me in 'death' as I had threatened in my performance. It took me several years of almost constant threats to achieve the full control that I wanted; until the Opera Populaire had fully regained what it lost.'

'In that time I learned to pick and choose my battles so that they would be more amenable to my demands. At times I even let them feel that they had tricked me into allowing them to win certain concessions. After all a good Opera Ghost knows when or when not to haunt an Opera House. Eventually the constant disagreements between us served to wear the management down, they eventually decided to retire from the administration of the Opera Populaire, but that was still years into the future from that time. In the meantime Antoinette and I continued to collaborate to create a truly magnificent institution. Word of an opera ghost spread and served to increase interest in the Opera Populaire, just as I had predicted. In only a few months time as the quality was improved and my reputation spread the box office take was increased exponentially.'

'Shortly after the Giry's had settled in the dormitories at the Palais Garnier, and I had taken control of the Opera, Antoinette received a telegram from the authorities in Perros that her old friend, Madame Valerius, who resided in Perros, had passed away. The telegram informed her that the Swedish orphan, Christine Daae, who had briefly resided with the Giry's before the war, would be returning to Paris on the evening train and that she had no where else to go. Antoinette showed me the telegram and threw up her hands in despair.'

"What I am to do with that child? We had to send her back to her guardian in Perros because we did not have enough food to feed another mouth after the war ended and it was safe to return her to Perros. With my husband gone how am I to keep her now? I will have to persuade the managers to let her move in with us when they barely tolerate our own presence Meg and mine. She is not really graceful enough to study ballet, I tried to teach her when I took her in the last time and she showed little aptitude towards it. She plays no instrument, even though her father was a famous violinist. How do I persuade them that she is worthy to live here?" Antoinette asked me. "In truth she is too shy to perform even if she did have some ability."

"Does she have any talent in the arts? Surely she must if her father was a violinist?" I asked thoughtfully.'

Well she has a good singing voice. I am not sure that it is good enough for her to sing professionally, but it is very pleasant and delicate. Perhaps as she gets older she could cultivate her talent in that area, but she is still quite young and undeveloped. I doubt that the managers would find her useful in any way." Antoinette explained.

I sighed, "Well perhaps I can help develop her voice. Let me be the judge of her talent after she arrives. I will listen to her voice and let you know what I think." I offered. Little did I know that once I heard her sing my life would never be the same again! Erik exclaimed looking at his wife.

She smiled back at him and replied with warmth, "Neither would mine. After years of waiting in growing despair, I finally encountered my Angel of Music. "


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16.

Erik looked at Christine and smiled warmly. He looked into her deep amethyst eyes and could still see the child whose singing voice had ensnared him from the moment that he first heard it. Even when her voice had been yet to be tamed, and was still childish, it possessed an ethereal quality. Chills ran down his spine as he came face to face with his destiny. That voice brought him to tears as he listened to her sing the _Kyrie eleison_, in memory of her dead father. Every glorious note that the girl sang spoke of passion, sorrow yet contained a profound innocence as she plead to her Lord to have mercy on her father's soul. He was not a religious man, not even now, how could he be? He knew that God had both created and forsaken him in one cruel blow from the moment that he left his mother's womb; but he was profoundly moved by what he heard.

He knew, with a certainty, that every fork in the road, had inexorably lead him to Christine Daae. Fate had placed her in his path, so that he could experience that very moment when those glorious, unearthly notes arose from her throat. He would be her teacher, just as he promised Antoinette. He had never before attempted to master anyone's voice but his own, and he used his to persuade others to bend to his will. But he knew with a certainty that he had been chosen to be the one to perfect the already angelic instrument that was her voice. Like a fool discarding a rock containing a priceless diamond in the rough, most music instructors would have not have taken the time to listen closely and ascertain the glorious sounds hidden behind the childish voice. But he did take the time to listen; he was sure that he could meet the challenge of perfecting what was already perfect, and share her voice with the world when he was finished.

He had had all the time in the world back then; it wasn't like anyone really wanted or needed him, they only feared and despised him, and he had been forced to use those emotions to make a place for himself in the opera house. The word caught on that the Palais Garnier was truly haunted, by a creature so hideous and so malignant that few even dared to go too far backstage, into his realm. Fewer still ventured below to his house. Even Madame Giry was busy with her jobs, and the Persians only came around every so often to check on him and exchange their concerns and how to address them. The Daroga would come to challenge him to a game of chess, and lecture him about the path that he had taken. He did not approve of this new persona of his, the Phantom of the Opera, he thought it to be childish and beneath his abilities. He still urged him to come back up to the surface and buy a house and live as a real man of means and not some ghostly specter. As he was haranguing Erik, they would play their game, until Nadir would grow weary and take his leave from him. To quiet the Persian Erik would promise that if Nadir could beat him that he would do as the Persian wanted and give up his haunting, and retire to the surface. Of course Erik always won whenever they played, but the Persian would put up a fight. Nadir would invite him to go to Montmartre with him, but he always declined his offers.

Every time that he was out in public, and in sight of people, they would stare at him in fright, and back away. That was their reaction when he was wearing his mask and his wig, and covering up his damnable face. He could not help but to imagine what it would be like if, like in Persia, he was required to go around without a mask; pure hell he would think. As it was, mothers would grip the hands of their children and pull them away lest he contaminate them by his very presence. People would cross the street to avoid passing him. Occasionally some drunken lout would dare to stare at the mask and mock him. He would beat those men up, if they dared do anything more. Once or twice he had been placed in danger and been obliged to kill them. Nadir would find out and threaten to turn him in to the authorities, but he would always relent after Erik would explain the circumstances. Paris at night was not the safest place in the world, and most of those sorts who did accost him, were deserving of death. They had robbed, raped or even killed the weak and innocent, over much of Paris. Although the night was Erik's friend for much of Paris it was a foe for much of the populous, in certain areas it was dangerous to leave the shelter of home at that time. For Erik the daytime was far more dangerous because he could defend himself against the ruffians that marauded over the streets of Paris looking for prey. When the night turned to day it was Erik who felt as if he were the prey.

By day he spent the vast majority of his time either writing and playing his compositions in his lair, or wandering around the back corridors of the opera house looking for something to put into his now daily notes to the management. Once that he had played a few nasty tricks on them, and threatened to consign the managers to hell, they decided to cooperate with him. He forced them to withdraw his opera from production. He could not bear to see his music tainted by being expelled through the bovine lips of La Carlotta. It was a sacrilege to the holy communion of music to let that voice be the voice of his music. To his ears, her voice sounded as hideous as his face was to the world, and to him. Yet he allowed them to retain her, because there was no one waiting in the wings with ability her draw an audience. He was sure that she was resting on her past glory. Perhaps she was once passable to have acquired such fame, but even in her late twenties, as she was at the time, she had already reached and passed her peak. She made little effort to sharpen her voice to where it might at least be passable to him, despite his many notes urging her to do so. No she would never be his voice to the world. His music would need to be expressed through a new and innocent voice, one untainted by the sins of the world around them, one even untainted by his own numerous sins that had blackened his soul to the point of darkness. Only someone pure of heart and of sin could possess the unsullied voice that his music required. A beautiful and pure voice must be the vessel through which is music could be carried into the heavens itself.

When he heard Christine sing he knew that she would be the one to do it. Erik threw his old opera into the fire and began to write a new opera entitled _Don Juan Triumphant _for her to sing once he was finished and her voice perfected. He would write it specifically for her voice and no other. He counted upon his ability to teach her to sing his music to mold her voice to what he wanted and more. What he didn't count on was just how hopelessly that he would fall in love with her and derail everything between them in doing so. His views towards Christine didn't start out with any sort of physical or sexual overtones, in fact quite the opposite. He was not the kind of man who would impose unwanted sexual advances on a mere child. As a man who never had a childhood, he considered a carefree youth to an inalienable right for all humans. He despised the monsters that abused youths for their own selfish needs; in his mind they were less worthy of life than even he was. Yet it was he that had been tarred with the scorn of society, while hundreds if not thousands of these horrible abusers were allowed to destroy the innocent, such as the boy that he had once been. He would never do such a thing, he might be the most hideous creature that ever lived but he would rather slit his own wrists than harm a single hair on the head of a child. No, that particular emotion would not visit him until she was a grown woman. He looked at his wife's beautiful face and as always was in awe of the fact that he had somehow won her over to him. His mind returned back to his family and he knew that he would have to continue the story. The children looked at him in anticipation. He had not realized that his mind had left them for so long.

Christine looked at Erik's pensive face and asked softly, "What are you thinking about ange?"

Erik smiled sadly, "I was thinking about how far from an angel that I truly was that day. I was remembering you as the innocent child that you once were when we met and how enchanting that your voice was even back then."

"As was yours for me ange. To this very day I believe that you were indeed the 'angel of music' that I had been searching for, the one that father promised me." Christine told him affectionately.

"But you now know that there are no such things as angels. I am just a man, a very hideous and violent one at that by nature." Erik reminded her.

"You are not violent anymore, and you are not hideous in my eyes either. You are the man that I love and my angel of music as well," Christine averred. "The day that you spoke to me was the best day of my life, well maybe with the exception of our wedding and the birth of our children," she added.

"You did not always think that way. For a while you were angry at how I deceived you for all of those years, starting with the day that we met." Erik reminded her.

"That was because I did not understand. I know now why you would never have wanted to reveal yourself to me. You were afraid that I would run away in fear, and anyways I gave you an opening, which you used to benefit both of us. It was I who insisted that you were my angel of music not the other way around." Christine reminded him.

"But you were only a child of eight. I was a fully-grown up man. I might have found a less deceptive approach." Erik told her.

"Your approach was perfect. Antoinette asked you to listen to my voice, and you found something in it that you wanted to work with." Christine explained.

"I found more than that Christine. Until that very moment I thought that the palaces that I built in Persia and Turkey had been my reason for existing. I believed that my life no longer had any point to it. I had buried myself so deeply in the bowels of the theatre, to escape humanity that, I forgot why I persevered in living in a world that did not want me. More than once I thought about shutting the lid of my coffin and praying that neither Antoinette nor the Persian would find me on time to save me. But then I thought about the sacrifices that the Daroga had made to keep me alive and I felt ashamed of my desire to die. He had left everything behind for me, and I was rejecting his gift. However little I might have valued his gift at the time, I knew that I could not reject it by killing myself. Still I felt little joy inside except for my music or from my collaboration with Antoinette to control the theatre, but, in time, even that grew almost boring. The managers did not challenge me, and there was only so much that I could do to improve Carlotta's voice when she refused to cooperate with me. Antoinette already had a decent salary, and I had used part of my 'wages' to pay those back who had been cheated, and to subsist on my own. In reality I needed little to live on, some good clothing was my only splurge. I needed pen and paper for my music, and various tools and parts for my inventions. I was a man of few needs since I had no one but myself to enjoy them with. If I felt sorry for myself it would be during the wee hours of the night when I would realize that I would probably be imprisoned in my cold dark dungeon for the rest of my life. Humanity would never be ready to accept me, and I despaired that I would be worthy of acceptance for the man that I was. My past sins laid heavily on my soul, drowning me in self loathing," Erik admitted.

"How harshly you judged yourself, mon amour. You did not deserve to chastise yourself so. You were wonderful to me from the very start. You were exactly who and what I needed. For the first two years after my father's death I had felt so lost and so very alone. You came to me out of the dark and inspired me to believe in my voice and to aim high for my future. You changed everything for me." Christine admitted. "I myself might not have made it, I might have died of a broken heart but for your guidance. You took me under your wing and made me blossom from a small lonely child into a happy young woman. You took my penchant for music, and turned it into something special. You gave me a dream to strive for."

"I eventually gave you nightmares as well." Erik reminded her.

Gustave cut in, "What do you mean Father? How did you give Mother nightmares?"

Erik bent his head in shame, "I wanted your mother to love me, as I did her. She was young and naïve and I thought that through her affection for me as a guide and teacher that she might come to love me in the same way that I loved her. When I didn't get my way, I was driven to act in an unconscionable manner?"

Meg looked at him in puzzlement not understanding what he meant by the word unconscionable, "What did you do Father? Did you try to hurt Mother?"

Erik shook his head sadly, "No not physically at least, but mentally I hurt her and many others as well; some of the others, not just mentally, but also physically. I became driven to keep your mother with me forever and at all costs, The more that I tried to claim her affections, the more afraid that I made her of my intentions, and I drove her away into the arms of her handsome suitor, who in her eyes, and the eyes of the world, was everything that I was not, handsome, young, chivalrous and brave."

"But that was later Erik and it was not quite the way that you described it. I too have much to blame myself for. Tell them about the beginning first, not the end. Not yet at least. They will understand what happened better if they find out what we both did." She looked at both of her children with teary eyes, "It was not just your father who made mistakes. I made many mistakes of my own, and also I refused to see the matter from your father's point of view or even my own. I let others persuade me to turn away from them. I should have known better. I should have been more compassionate. Your father did so much for me and when the time came for him to count on me and my affections for him I let him down. I failed him, because I did not even try to understand his own pain, his suffering and loneliness. He had reached out to me, as I had to him and I wasn't there for him," she looked away tearfully, a look of profound sadness swept across her face.

Erik interrupted and began to explain, "Antoinette had asked me to look in on her new Swedish ward and I did. I followed her into the chapel of the Palais Garnier and hid behind the altar. I could see a sad little girl, who looked so lost and lonely and then I heard her sing. As I said I was completely enchanted by your mother's voice, and knew right then that I could do far more than give her a few voice lessons, I wanted to train her to replace La Carlotta when she came of age, and to be the voice of my music to the world. Your mother would be my redemption, my gift to the world to extirpate my sins. Of course I had no idea of how to approach her. I could not very well declare myself to be the dreaded Phantom of the Opera, nor could I step into the light and approach her as a man. In either event she would have ran away from me in fear, but when she finished singing she gave me the very opening that I needed; the perfect way to approach her.'

'She neared the altar then lit a candle to her father's memory, she knelt before the altar and exclaimed, in Swedish, brokenly, "It has been almost two years since you left me alone Father, and you had promised to send me an angel of music. Why did you make such a promise to me if you did not intend to keep it? I have waited so patiently for him to come."

'While my Swedish, at the time, was somewhat limited I knew enough of the language to understand what she was saying. I spoke fluent German and English, and knew a couple of Swedes from my time in Egypt from who I had learned to understand their language a little. I saw my opening and took it to be a further sign of what I was meant to do.'

'I responded to her in French, "I am here Christine. I am sorry that I have not come until now, but I had other worthy children to attend to."

"She looked around in surprise at hearing my voice, but of course I had used my skills at ventriloquism to speak to her. As you know I have the ability to throw my voice around anywhere, even inside someone's mind. I wanted to sound as if my voice was coming from both above and within her, as I was sure that an angel's voice would do if they had been real.'

Christine smiled and interrupted by saying, "But they are real. You are very real angel. You are my angel of music that my father promised, I believe that more strongly now than I did back then. At that time a part of me wondered whether one of the other girls or even one of the boys from the ballet were making fun of me."

Erik remarked, "Really? You never told me that until now."

Christine giggled, "You never asked. You just assumed that I believed you to be an angel right away, but in truth I had little reason to believe that you were real. I was not that naïve."

Erik turned to his children and laughed, "Even then your mother was a vixen. I had no idea, she did not let on that she believed me to be a pretender."

Christine added, "But eventually your father convinced me that he was real. He was very persuasive. It was his voice that was the reason that I did believe in him. I could not believe that anyone, who was human, could have a voice as beautiful as his. I could not think of anyone at the opera house who possessed such a voice. Only an unearthly being, such as an angel, or even God himself had taken pity upon me. I was ready to do whatever the angel asked of me, I became his servant, as he promised to remain with me. He inspired me to go beyond what I thought that I could do. After he spoke to me, I never again doubted that my father had done what he promised. I knew then that I was not alone in the world or lost, that God himself had taken me under his wing, by sending the angel to me."

"I could not believe how easily that I was able to reach your mother. At first I thought that I had overplayed my hand and that I would be revealed to her for the fraud that I was. It weighed heavily on my spirit that I would deceive a child in such a way, but as I said it was the only way that I could have approached her and been accepted by her. I reported my success to Antoinette, expecting her approval, but she reproached me instead.'

"How could you take advantage of the child in such a way? To capitalize on her grief? I would have thought you to be above that sort of thing."

I replied bitterly, "How would you have expected me to approach her? As the Phantom? Worse yet, in person? A hideous masked man appearing out of nowhere volunteering to tutor her? It was you who wanted me to find the girl's talent and see if I could help her. I thought that you would be pleased with my approach. After all it was you who helped me become the Opera Ghost."

"That was different," Antoinette replied defensively, "The managers are greedy and took advantage of people. We used their own superstitions against them. In this case it is an innocent child. You are using your skills to deceive her. What will happen when she is older and finds out that you have been deceiving her? She might not take it well. I think that you should come to her with honesty and integrity now."

I looked at her bitterly, and pointed to my face, "I should come to her like this? She will run in the opposite direction just like almost everyone else has done. This girl has a rare gift and I intend on helping her to perfect it. When she does she will replace Carlotta, or whoever is the diva when the time comes and she is ready to assume her place. I will make her immortal, the greatest diva of all time. In one hundred years time they will still speak of her and her voice."

"Don't you think that you are overstating her talent, and yours for that matter? Who have you ever taught before? How do you know that when she reaches puberty that her voice will not change for the worse? I know that you are lonely Erik, but you are placing too much value on Christine and what you can do for her. She may not even aspire to what you want for her. Why do you not devote yourself to something else?" Antoinette asked me.

"Because Christine Daae is my destiny. She is the very reason that I am here in this theatre. I was meant to help her to become a great star, and she was meant to bring my compositions to the world," I explained. "She will be my voice. She is the means by which my music will rise out of the darkness and be listened to by the world."

Antoinette gave me a sharp disapproving glance, "So now we have stumbled upon your real reason for helping her, you want to use her? That is not healthy Erik she is just a child. You should not use her in that manner."

"In what manner?" I asked bitterly, "It was she herself who begged that her father send her an angel of music. I have given her a purpose and she has given me one as well. Why is it so selfish for me to do so? Are you perhaps jealous? Did you want me to help you or Meg? You asked me to look in on her and give you my assessment and now I have. She is a prodigy that should be presented to the world when she is ready. I will make her ready and once I do, should she want to retire or choose a different path then I won't stop her."

Antoinette looked at me and asked me, "Promise me then that you will not stop her should she later decide that she does not share your dream. Promise me that you will let her go?"

I nodded to her in agreement and our bargain was sealed, "Of course I promise that to you Antoinette."

"Do you swear it Erik?" she asked.

"Yes of course I do." I replied easily. "I swear it on my immortal soul."

"Swear upon your music not your soul. Promise me that should she turn away from you and you do not let her that you will never play another note of music again," she implored me. "If you do that then I shall support you as 'the angel of music', just as I do as the Phantom."

"You have my word," I told her dismissively. "Little did I know that my word, given lightly that day, would definitely come back to haunt me."


	17. Chapter 17

This one was ready quicker so I have decided to post it now, since the next one will probably be late due to my busy schedule. Please read and review, your reviews mean so much to me!

Chapter 17.

"The years flew by, and with my nurturing, your mother's voice grew in both strength and beauty. Our friendship grew strong as well. Your mother would tell me more and more about what ailed her, and of course what made her happy. I, of course, as an adult strove to help her solve her various problems. I would also occasionally leave gifts on her pillow or in her closet, if she needed an article of clothing that she could not afford. An angel of music had to not only inspire his pupil's voice but also keep her in the appropriate mood to sing. I will not lie; it felt wonderful to have the ability to interact with your mother even if it was only through walls or mirrors. No one had ever truly felt comfortable enough to discuss his or her woes with me in quite the same trusting manner, not even Antoinette or Nadir. I relished the fact that your mother felt that she could bring her problems to me." Erik explained to them.

Christine interrupted, "Why wouldn't I? Of course at the time I did not realize that you were a real man or I might have been quite embarrassed to ask you some of the particular questions that I did. Meg was a little younger than me and was far less shy than I was. She could not understand my hesitation at doing certain things. You always knew exactly what to say and what advice to give. Your advice proved to be excellent each and every time that I came to you for it. You were always there for me with an encouraging word. When I was particularly despondent you would sing the most beautiful songs that I had ever heard, apparently right inside my mind. Your voice was so angelic, and soothing I felt as if heaven itself was calling to me and calming me down. You never ever let me down when I needed you or gossiped about me, as Meg would sometimes do. It was natural that I would confide in you because you were such a good listener. You never judged my actions harshly, even though you were a rather strict teacher."

"I was strict for your own good, ange. I wanted your voice to grow and thrive," Erik explained smoothly

"You still are a strict taskmaster," Gustave complained. "Sometimes I feel as if I can never be good enough for you, when it comes to my studies."

"Only because I know that you could do better than your less than stellar efforts would allow." Erik replied defensively. "You have the opportunity to be the best student in your class yet you lag behind. You are always half out the door before everyone else. Madame Martin tells us so each time that we meet with her to discuss your progress. A child of mine should be able to excel in everything that he puts his mind to."

"But I want to have fun, Father. I would think that you would want me to do so considering that you were not able to play sports when you were my age." Gustave averred.

"What I did at your age is the exact reason why you should study harder than you do. I was not given the opportunities that you have had handed to you. If I were given those opportunities, if my face were normal, I would have most definitely striven to take advantage of them. Instead I had no teachers to help me learn. I had to teach myself everything." Erik insisted bitterly.

"Do you really believe that Father? Or would the opposite have been true? Would you have been just like me and desired to play with your friends? I thought that you said earlier that you wanted Meg and I to have a happy childhood. I love to go out on the ice and play hockey with the other boys and go canoeing in the summertime. Spending all my time indoors studying, as you would have it, is not a way to have a happy childhood." Gustave argued.

"Neither was performing in a freak show. Yet I valued every minute that I was given the chance to learn something. If I had not desired to better myself, I might still be in a freak show performing like a monkey or elephant, instead of being here giving you my sage advice." Erik told him. "I only ask that you take advantage of what is offered to you freely."

Christine interrupted, "Will you boys quit arguing? Erik, as much as we would want it to be so, Gustave does not quite have the same love of learning that you do. He is a good student but he enjoys playing with the other children, something that I would think that you would appreciate given your lack of opportunity to do so when you were a child. Gustave, you would think that now that you have heard some of your father's story you would be able to understand why we feel that it is important that you get a good education and take your studies more seriously. Surely you can see that it was your father's intelligence and thirst for knowledge that enabled him to escape the prison that humanity had placed him in."

Gustave looked at his mother and replied, "Of course I do."

He looked at Erik irritably, "But you must admit that your own actions were far from perfect back then. I mean you lied, cheated, killed and intimidated people despite all of your education. You impersonated an angel just to get a child to like you. You were far from perfect, yet you demand perfection from me."

Erik slammed his fist down on a table in anger, his eyes flashing, "Is that what you think of me now? After all that I have told you thus far? Do you see me only as that sort of man? A criminal and child molester?"

He looked at Christine his eyes flashing fire, "I told you that this was a bad idea to tell them our story. The children will never look at me in the same way again," he stormed away furiously.

Christine watched as Erik disappeared, he did not even stop to wait for an answer, "Now you did it, you hurt your father's feelings. Is that what you wanted to do? Is that what you really think of your father after all that he has done for you? He gives you plenty of free time. He even comes out to play with you at times like he did the other day, yet you would paint him as a criminal, after all that he went through" she exclaimed, in anger as well.

Meg interrupted, "You are terrible to say such things to father. He already explained to us how the world reacted to him. How was he to go about surviving as an honest man when the whole world was against him? He is the best father ever, and yet you just cut him down."

Gustave lowed his head in shame, "I did not mean it in that way. I was just angry and said some things that I did not mean. I think that Father is a great man despite what he did in the past; no, what I really meant to say was because how well that he managed to rise up from his past. I respect him even more now than I did before. Do you think that he will forgive me for hurting his feelings?"

Christine smiled, "I know that he will forgive you. He has forgiven me a lot more than what you just said. For a time I called him much worse, and meant every word of it, I delighted in being cruel to him and yet he did not abandon me. The problem is that you and he are so very much alike which is one reason why I love you both so much." She turned to Meg, "You too my little Meg. You have your father's big heart, and your namesake's charm and vivacity. Gustave you need to find your father wherever he might be moping and explain to him that you did not mean the bad things that you said to him."

Gustave replied with shame, "I truly did not mean any of it. I love father, and I agree with Meg he is a very good father, the best."

Christine replied softly, "I know, but you must remind him. Because of what he has endured in the past, he is not like other men. Your father may seem strong on the outside but he must constantly be reminded that we do love him and respect him. If he is not then he begins to doubt both our love, and worse yet his own worth. I would give anything to change that but I am afraid that I cannot take back the past."

"How did you get to know Father's needs so well, Maman?" Gustave queried, "You always seem to know and say exactly what he needs to hear."

Christine swallowed, "I am almost afraid to tell you because it did not come easily. There was a time that I knew nothing about your father and his needs; and, well I am afraid that I misjudged him rather badly. I was not much older than you Gustave, just a few years more, that's all. Still I was immature and somewhat naïve about the world. I had known your father for a very long time and came to him with my problems. In all that time, I did not ever ask about whom he was, since I believed him to be an angel sent by my father to serve my own needs. I never questioned the fact that my angel might have needs of his own. It may sound ridiculous that I should believe such a thing of your father, but he was very convincing in his role of angel, just as he convinced everyone at the Opera house that he was a ghost. The cast and crew of the Opera Populaire were very superstitious by nature and he was able to take advantage of that. When I did care to know and realized that he was the infamous Phantom of the Opera, I believed only the worst things about him, and arrogantly told him so, and accused him of all kinds of terrible things. I forgot completely about our past friendship, and all the many kindnesses that he had done for me to get me where I was. I was a fool and I hurt both him and others that I had grown to care about, all because I did not care to know what my own heart was telling me."

A ghostly voice echoed, "You are too hard on yourself, ange; much too hard. You were a young and innocent child, and I was older and much more jaded than you. You did not understand what you were getting into when you turned away from me. Both Antoinette and the Persian tried to warn me that I was placing too much hope and trust in someone who was still an innocent child. I chose to disregard their advice and went about trying to get you to love me in exactly the wrong way. I was not the most stable person back then and I demanded both your love and obedience when you had little reason to trust me once you realized that I had been deceiving you for all of those years."

"Erik where are you?" Christine asked looking around for her husband's form. Even after all of these years Erik still loved to seemingly appear out of air.

Erik laughed and then stepped into the light. " I never really left. My anger at Gustave was fleeting. I have enjoyed listening to you explain matters to our children. You are doing a splendid job, and yes Gustave, I do forgive you. It is myself that I have trouble forgiving. It is not your description of my acts that upset me; it was the fact that you are right. I was all of those things that you accused me of being, yet somehow even worse. As the years elapsed, I had grown to truly believe that the Palais Garnier was my home, and the Opera Populaire my company. I felt free to act in any way that I pleased, putting my own interests over that of the company. The truth was that I was the ruler of a kingdom that existed only in my own mind. Even if I was in control there in a certain way, I was a despot of the worst sort. As time passed by I even alienated both Antoinette and the Daroga with my incessant demands. I lost sight of why I had originally demanded a salary, and simply demanded one to keep everyone on his or her toes. Helping your mother achieve perfection was the one goal that kept me from losing touch with reality altogether. Thus when she grew away from me, which was inevitable, my mental state grew more and more unstable. I was grasping her to me, as if she were my lifeboat; but that ship had sailed away and left me behind."

Christine told him, "So you say, but I do not see it in the same way. Your guidance and care helped to restore the Opera to the heights that it had achieved before the war. People would buy tickets to attend the Opera in the hopes that they would get to witness one of your many hauntings. They really did believe that you were a ghost of some sort. It was only when the management changed, and the opera had new patrons that everything changed for the worse. They insisted upon ignoring you and doing things their way, which was the wrong way, you only tried to keep them from harming the quality of the production. While they were not thieves like their predecessors they were almost worse, they were bumblers. Carlotta truly did need to retire, not necessarily to further my career, as you wanted, but because she had become detrimental to the morale of the other cast members. She was constantly demeaning all of us and was worse than unkind; she was malicious. She would blame everyone else for the declining attendance, and for her own mistakes. If she sang a note out of key it was because someone had distracted her. Of course she loved to blame everything on your father most of all, even when he wasn't there. No one but Umberto Piangi liked her and even he used to tell her to cool down and concentrate upon improving her voice."

Erik laughed, "He was asking her to do the impossible, she had no voice left. Her voice had been terrible even when I first arrived but, as I said before, there was no one else who could sell tickets like she could just by her reputation. After the new management took over, I decided that it was time to make more changes yet. You were by then seventeen years old, and you were ready to assume a more prominent role in the company. If the new managers would have only listened to and then heeded my advice, much of the tragedy that later took place might have been avoided. Given the right attitude, they might have convinced Carlotta to accept the fact that you were ready to serve as her understudy, and that she needed one. In time she could have gracefully cut back on her own role and slowly eased into retirement. I would have allowed her that dignity, provided that she allied herself with you, and helped you to cultivate your future role as Prima Donna.

'La Carlotta was already older than the average prima donna; if she had been less self-centered, she could have been helpful to you, and to the future of the company. Instead she was jealous and would see you only as a rival and as a result would constantly undercut you and try to make you look bad. I pointed this out to the new managers, as did Antoinette, yet they failed to even acknowledge that Carlotta's best years were far behind her, and that she needed to allow you to assume some of her duties as the Prima Donna of the Opera Populaire. Carlotta would not share her role as Prima Donna with anyone, especially not someone of _my_ choosing. I eventually realized that I had to take matters into my own hands to get the audience to notice you. I concluded that only a public exposure to your voice and then critical acclaim would serve convince the managers that you were going to be a worthy successor to La Carlotta."

He turned to Gustave, "And yes, my actions to do so were very much what you attributed to me earlier. But I knew of no other way to make them listen and make the changes that I felt were necessary for the smooth continuation of the company once La Carlotta could be swayed to retire.'

Gustave went to his father and apologized, "Please forgive me father. I did not mean anything that I said before. I respect you a great deal, and admire you. When I grow up I hope that I can become at least half of the man that you are, Father. It is only that my temper got the best of me."

Erik laughed and looked at his wife, "I wonder where he got his temper from?"

Christine shrugged, "As I told him, you and he are alike in so many ways that it is scary. There is no doubt who his father is."

Erik returned to his seat beside the fire, "No definitely not, although at first I did wonder how a man as hideous as I am could have sired such perfect children."

Christine looked at him lovingly, "Perhaps because your so called hideous face is not as bad as you think that it is."

"Then why did you scream when you first saw it?" Erik asked gently.

"Perhaps it was because of your hideous temper. If you had not made such a fuss about it, I might not have become frightened of you to begin with and then our story would have been much different." Christine told him.

"Somehow I doubt that my dear. My face has grown on you over the years. My temper not as much." Erik noted.

"Your temper is terrible when it is triggered, but it has mellowed a great deal since you are not as sensitive about your face as you once were," Christine explained.

"How can I be as sensitive about my face when you are constantly trying to convince me that it is handsome in your eyes?" Erik purred.

"Everyone here in town is used to your face Father, no one says anything about it at all," Meg told him helpfully.

"That is because no one has seen it. I do not dare to venture out without my mask. Whenever I do go out, I am careful not to draw too much attention to myself, I do not want to scare anyone." Erik told her.

He looked at Christine, "Shall I continue with our story or would you like to? You would tell it very prettily. I like the way that you talk about me better than I talk about myself. You are very kind about what I did, not overly critical. I, on the other hand, do not hesitate to pull any punches about my behavior back then. I would give anything to change the past, not the good parts of course, when I was your angel of music, and you valued me and my friendship, or what came much later when you found it in your heart to love me; just what came in between, all the horror that I caused."

"You are quick to assign the blame to yourself for everything. Someday I hope that you will stop condemning yourself for what you did and start accepting the fact that all of us had an equal part in what happened. Me, you, Raoul, the managers, Carlotta and all the others." Christine told him.

"So you are ready to forgive yourself about what happened to your boy? You already forgave me for my role years ago." Erik challenged.

Christine gave him a slightly stricken look; "You would use that against me. Of course I cannot forgive myself about what happened with Raoul. It will always haunt me, just like you are haunted by what happened to the Persian that night. But I do not dwell upon the past as you sometimes do. Dwelling upon it does not change anything that happened."

"Perhaps I dwell upon it so much because my past is far more soaked in blood and death than your past. It is hard not to punish myself for wallowing in blood. If my past had been less bloody then perhaps I would have the luxury of allowing myself to forget. But sometimes I still question the justice of the fact that I am so unabashedly happy and fortunate, when others, more worthy than I, did not get to share in it." Erik replied softly.

He turned to his children "Enough introspection, I shall explain more to you."

He turned back to Christine "I do expect for you to help me explain those days, at least a little bit, as you have just done earlier. It will help them to understand the full picture and not just my point of view."

"I most certainly do, because you will make it out to be all your fault. I know you." Christine told him.

"Perhaps because I do blame myself, just as you once did. There was a time that you blamed me for everything" Erik replied edgily. "Shall we resume?" he asked his children. "Or are you hungry for supper?"

"Yes please keep telling us what happened we both can wait." They both chimed in at once.

"Well then we shall go on for a little bit longer then. As I started to say earlier, one day, after almost ten years had passed, the managers decided that they had enough of both my petty demands and me. They sold out to two other men, who had little experience in running that sort of business. Their names were Messieurs Andre Moncharmin and Richard Fermin. They were fortunate to receive the backing of a very prominent French noble family, the de Chagny's. " Erik explained.

Gustave looked at his parents questioningly, "Is this where we are going to learn how we ended up with that last name?"

Erik smiled at his son, "Eventually."

"What is our real last name then?" Gustave asked.

"Goethe." Erik replied.

"As in the philosopher and the creator of your favorite opera?" Gustave asked.

"One and the same, but if we are related it is very distantly. My father is from Frankfurt as was he, but it is only a coincidence. Of course I do not know for certain if we have a relationship at all, only that Maman would mock me for being his ugly distant cousin. She would claim that I was trying to be him, but would never possess neither his genius nor his talent. Perhaps my father told her that we were related but I will never know." Erik explained. "It is not as if my father and I are on speaking terms."

Gustave looked at his mother, "Did you know this?"

Christine smiled back, "Only at our wedding and I was as bemused as you were by it. Obviously we did not use the alias Raoul de Chagny when we were married. We traveled to Tadoussac and were married in the Chapelle des Indiens by the parish priest. We gave the priest a hefty donation to keep your father's real name quiet."

Gustave looked at his parents, "In the old wooden church there? We learned about the settlement of Tadoussac, and the Jesuit mission there in history class."

Erik chuckled, "One and the same, but we did not go there for historic reasons. It is a small town and we needed some place remote to marry in, since we could hardly use my real name somewhere prominent. To the world I remain Raoul de Chagny, and even now you must never call me by my real name. I am a wanted felon in France even to this day, although I am thought to be dead. Fortunately, when I committed my crimes I was most commonly known by my pseudonym, 'the Phantom of the Opera', but if someone were to truly search to ascertain my fate they might uncover everything, even though we have taken pains to hide my identity."

"Why go by the pseudonym 'Raoul de Chagny' then? After all he was there as well?" Gustave asked.

"We will explain, but it is easier if I wait until we get to that part of our story. That is the exact reason why I asked you to put all of your questions to pencil and paper, earlier." Erik reminded Gustave slightly brusquely "It is too easy to go off on a tangent and forget where we were in the story."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18.

Erik was ready to continue their story, but gave Christine an encouraging look, "You can step in at any time to add to this part. It would be easier if you could tell them your point of view from that time. This is the point in our story where we might get carried away with our past emotions. It will be hard for me to express everyone's emotions as well as my own, particularly the Vicomte's. You could speak about the fop's impressions since I was not exactly on speaking terms with him at the time or ever."

Meg giggled and asked, "Who was the fop?"

Christine gave Erik a disapproving glance; "You should not refer to him in that way after all that happened in the end."

Erik shrugged, "Old habits die hard. It is still hard for me not to think of him as a fop."

Christine smiled and admitted, "Well he was an amazing dresser. He was always wearing the most up to date fashions, but then again you should talk my love. You do not exactly dress unfashionable yourself," she teased. "It is not me who insists on ordering his suits from the finest haberdasher on the Rue de la Paix in Paris. I get my dresses made here in town when I need something fancy, most of the time I make my own clothes, and the children's as well but almost never yours."

Erik met her teasing gaze, "When you are as hideous as I am you need to do whatever you can to look presentable. He, on the other hand, would have looked good in a Roman toga or a bearskin."

Christine replied, "You look more than presentable, perhaps the deformed part of your face is not your greatest asset but the rest of you is certainly admirable. You are very well built."

"What about my bloated and opaque skin, and clearly visible skull and veins, my bloated lips and bald head? Those are far from presentable. As long as I live I will never forget how you screamed when you first beheld them."

"I told you before that I was shocked that was all. While I admit that they all took some getting used to, in time I came around," Christine replied.

Gustave interjected, "Where is the Rue de la Paix? Can I get my suits from Paris as well?"

Erik smiled at his son, "It is not necessary, and you too can make any outfit look good. You are quite handsome as well. Thank goodness that neither you nor your sister inherited my deformity."

Meg chimed in, "You are not as ugly as you make yourself out to be, Pierre Dubois' father is far uglier than you, he has a harelip and is really fat."

Christine gave her daughter a chastising look, "Didn't I teach you never to judge someone based on his or her looks?"

Meg looked down in shame, "Yes, but I was only describing Monsieur Dubois in such a manner to prove to Father that he is far from being the ugliest man around."

Erik hugged Meg, "I thank you for saying so, but your mother is right, Denis Dubois is ugly but he is a good man. We do not need to look for men who are uglier than me to make me feel better about my deformity. It has taken me a long time to accept it for myself Meg, and I still struggle to do so each and every time that I gaze in the mirror and see it for myself. Unfortunately my own mother raised me to hate myself for looking as I do. Your mother has struggled to teach me the very lesson that we are trying to teach you."

"Well you are a terrible student, mon amour. How many years has it been since that night when my curiosity got the best of me and I tore your mask from your face? Yet you still cannot completely accept that, in someone else's eyes, your face is handsome? I learned to feel that way, I am still hoping that someday that you will feel the same."

"Almost fifteen years, ange. As I recall, it was in the late spring of 1880, on the morning after your debut," Erik replied. "You are a quicker learner than me I guess because that night before you were perfection in itself. I had never been prouder of you than that night. You made the angels themselves weep at hearing the beauty and purity of your voice. I thought that my own heart would give way for the joy that you brought me that night. I knew then that you were ready to give flight to my own music. I knew that only your voice had the power to do it justice, to give both it and myself immortality. If I could not be beautiful, my music could be, but only with your voice."

"I wish that I could still convey your music to the world, as I once did, not for my own sake but for yours and for your music," Christine told him while her hand caressed his arm affectionately.

Erik sighed, "Just as it is too dangerous for you to sing publically, the same applies to my music. It was heard by Paris the one time and never again, but once was enough. But as long as I have you beside me, it no longer matters to me, as it once did. Of course I have other accomplishments to take the place of my musical compositions in my heart. My great palaces in Persia and Turkey still stand, and I have Meg and Gustave, your most precious gifts of all," he replied in the velvety voice that Christine loved so dearly.

"But your music was the most beautiful that I have ever heard or sang and only a grand concert hall like the Palais Garnier has the acoustics to do it justice. I would love to sing it at least once again. Do you suppose that we could go to Quebec City one day and have it performed in the Academie de Musique?" Christine asked, wistfully.

Erik shook his head 'no'; "We have discussed it before, ange. It is too dangerous to do so. Besides the Theatre lacks the necessary acoustics, and the Quebecois lack the sophistication needed to enjoy my opera. As you well know, opera's are rarely performed here in Canada, and when they are they are only the most well known operas, not one by an unknown composer such as myself. Even in Paris they did not appreciate my opera. The critics gave it terrible reviews."

Christine cut in, "I don't believe that they paid attention to your music that night Erik, everyone paid more attention to what happened both on the stage and behind the stage. Your music was incredible, stupendous, the most beautiful music that I have ever heard, or had the privilege to sing. The critics wanted to say that the music was terrible because it sold more newspapers to make it as monstrous as they portrayed you as being. You were the horrible beast that forced everyone to listen to his maniacal ravings, and then kidnapped, murdered and destroyed the Palais Garnier. I believe that if it had been written by anyone else that it would have been universally acclaimed as a masterpiece."

Erik smiled, enjoying her compliment, "Perhaps you are a bit biased since you are married to me, and claim to love me."

"I am biased, and I do love you, but you must admit that even when I hated you, or at least thought that I did, I never once criticized your opera. I couldn't lie about what I thought of it, not even to you. It was magnificent and that is the truth." Christine insisted.

Gustave interjected, "Could you sing it for us? At least one song."

Erik and Christine exchanged glances and concurrently replied, "No."

Erik looked at his son apologetically, "Your mother's voice is out of shape, and it is simply too powerful, too dangerous to be heard, perhaps some day but not now. There are many who still would hunt me down and wish me, and even your mother, dead. We can never take the chance that word of a 'masked' composer would leak back across the ocean to France. In fact nothing that we have told you must ever leave this house, just in case."

Meg interrupted, "Would you tell us about Maman's debut? It must have been beautiful. Maman must have looked like a Queen."

"Your mother always looks like a Queen, but yes it was a special day for both of us." Erik replied.

Christine gave Erik a love filled glance and then looked at their children, "Of course we shall tell you all of it as we promised we would. Shall we continue darling?"

Erik looked at his wife and closed his eyes remembering how it was. He already knew that at some point he had fallen in love with his student. Not when she was a child but when she had turned into a young woman of amazing grace and beauty. Even then he knew that she was forbidden to him, Nadir tried to warn him against losing control of his emotions. He tried so hard to retain indifferent to her in that way because he knew that anything otherwise would almost certainly end in disaster, but he could not keep a lid on his growing feelings. They terrified him with their intensity, but he simply could not help it. He could no more stop himself from loving her than he could stop the sun from setting at dusk. He feverishly tried to control his lust for her, but every thought that he could think was about her. Every fantasy that he dreamt of was about how he could make her love him in return. But he knew for certain that he needed to keep his distance as a man. He had to maintain his control, or he would lose everything, especially his sanity.

He turned to his children and began to explain, "Your mother and I spent months rehearsing her debut song. We needed only an opportunity for her to display it to the world. We would rehearse the starring role in whatever opera had been planned. We waited only for a time that La Carlotta would fall ill, but the woman was as strong as the cow that she resembled. She rarely fell ill, thus I decided to give fate a helping hand. I made sure that La Carlotta developed a stomach ache by putting just the right concoction of herbs in her in favorite tea to make her ail for a day or two. It was only several hours before the debut of the newest Opera for that spring, the first Opera under the new management. They wanted to make a good impression.'

'When they found out about Carlotta's ailment, the new managers were beside themselves with concern. They worried, 'Who could they find to replace their ailing Prima Donna at such short notice?'

Of course, I had the answer and allowed my most ghostly voice to echo it throughout the theatre; I spoke only two words "Christine Daae", Erik explained using his voice exactly as he did back then.

The two instinctively children looked around the room to find the source of the voice.

Christine laughed, "I will take the story from here a bit, since I was the center of what happened that day. They were all terrified by that voice, except for Madame Giry and me. I knew the voice of my angel, and Madame Giry knew that it was Erik. Her daughter Meg could always be counted on to say in a frightened voice, "That was _him_, the Phantom of the Opera."

'I whispered to her ignorantly, "No Meg, that was the Angel of Music."

Meg gave me a strange look and replied firmly, "No Christine, I know that voice well and I have been here since before you came. That was the Phantom of the Opera. Have you never heard him speak before now?"

I replied truthfully, "I have not but I know that he sounded nothing like the voice that you have described. The voice that we just heard was gentle and caressing, the most beautiful voice that I have ever heard; the voice of an angel, not a Phantom. The voice of the Phantom is terrifying and menacing. I have never heard it, but you have told me so."

"How is it that you have been here for almost nine years and you are the only one in the entire opera house that has never heard his voice?" she chided me, irritably, and then continued, "I have both heard it, and I have even seen him without his mask. I was only a small child but I remember his face really well, it is both hideous and terrifying. He can kill both with a snap of his lasso and his bare hands. I saw him kill the bad men that killed my father that way. He saved us, but at what cost, I always wondered when he would come back and collect his reward from Maman and I. Such a foul creature could never have saved Maman and I simply out of kindness for us. I am sure that he had an ulterior motive and he will someday collect his due. I hope that he will not violate me, I overheard him tell Maman that he will make me a Queen, perhaps he means the Queen of Hell, and he will be my husband." She shuddered at the thought of it.'

'I replied, "Really Meg, your mother is always telling you that you have a huge imagination. I am sure that you have made up the whole thing in your mind. If he wanted something from you and your mother I am sure that he would have received his reward by now."

Her mother overheard us and warned us both whispering, "Silence. Do not speak of these things here and in this company." She turned to the managers and suggested rather loudly, "The voice is correct. Christine Daae has been tutored by one of the finest voice teachers in all of France. She knows the role and can sing it tonight. You will not be disappointed."

'Monsieur Firmin just laughed, "Who are you to know Madame Giry? You are only a ballet instructor. We do not take advice from either a disembodied voice or someone not qualified to judge, and who is her tutor anyhow? How could an orphan afford to take lessons with anyone of quality?"

Monsieur Andre was more receptive and interrupted him, "Why don't we let the girl try out for the role? We have nothing to lose. Do you really want to refund all of that money back to the audience for tonight's performance? Besides our new patron, the Vicomte de Chagny will be here in attendance tonight. How can we expect his family's continued support if we have to cancel our performances because we are too short sighted to give La Carlotta an understudy?"

'Firmin looked at his partner and agreed, you have a point Gilles, we have nothing to lose in listening at least." Monsieur Firmin turned to me and asked, "Can you sing the role young lady, or is Madame Giry mistaken?"

'Your father chimed back in, "She is not mistaken. Christine can sing it well; she far surpasses La Carlotta. You shall see."

'One of the chorus girls screamed in terror, and the managers looked around once more and Firmin shouted, "Come out and show yourself whoever you are. We do not believe that a ghost haunts this theatre."

Madame Giry looked at both men and predicted, "You will believe in him soon. He has haunted this theatre for many years. The previous managers were skeptical as well, at least at first, but they learned that 'the Voice' advised many things and almost all of them vastly improved the quality of our productions. If you just stay quiet and follow his instructions, most importantly leave him his 'salary', you will find that he will leave you in peace for the most part."

'The managers ignored her advice and again looked at me, "Can you truly sing this role?"

I replied somewhat meekly, "Yes, I think so. My tutor has deemed me more than ready."

They both gave me a queer look and Monsieur Andre asked me very gently, "Who is your tutor? Do we know him or at least of him?"

'I did not know how to answer his question since I knew that the truth would only serve to make me look crazy. I swallowed my fear and replied, "I do not want to say. He prefers to remain anonymous because he teaches me for free and does not want others to think that he might do the same for them."

'Your father interrupted once again, "I have observed her lessons and you will find her voice to be quite remarkable. Do not trouble yourselves with trying to discover who taught her, just listen to her sing and then you be the judges. Provided, that your unschooled ears can recognize genius even when it is handed to you as a gift, Messieurs."

'The men looked around again, "Show yourself sir. We know for certain that you are not a ghost, Monsieur le Fantome."

Your father laughed maniacally, for the first time igniting my own wonder, '_was Meg right after all? Was my angel of music also the Phantom of the Opera? Suddenly I wondered just who my angel of music really was, but I shook my feeling off. Phantom or not whatever he was, he had always been my friend, and been there for me, even when no one else was. How could I doubt him even for a moment when he had already done so much for me?' _

'Madame Giry explained, "Do not make futile demands upon _him. _He will never comply. What do you have to lose? Give the girl a chance."

'Monsieur Andre sighed in defeat, "Madame Giry is right. What do we have to lose? Sing for us young lady."

"And so I began to sing, at first somewhat shakily. I was not used to all of the attention, but then I could hear your father whispering to me in my head "Pretend that this is a practice and nothing more. Sing for them as you do for me and your voice will astound them as much as it does me." 'He was right. I began to pretend that we were in the chapel and I was practicing for him. I soon forgot where I was and sang loud and clearly enough for even the angels in heaven to hear me. Time and space itself stood still and I felt nothing but my spirit soaring to the very heavens above on my Angel of Music's wings. He was with me in my mind and in my spirit as well, and I could feel both his and my own immortal soul ascending to a different and higher plane of being. The music and I united to become as one, and then when I was finished I let go. I was back on earth and in the Opera House and I looked around for some sort of sign, some sort of affirmation or rejection but I was met with complete silent. The room was completely silent. Everyone just stared at me for a moment, and then suddenly someone clapped, and the whole company started clapping. A ghostly voice rang out as well, "Bravo, bravissimo." It said eerily echoing throughout the theatre

'Madame Giry crossed her arms and turned to them with an impatient smile and then she asked expectantly, "Well?"

'Monsieur Andre looked at his partner and then at the ballet Mistress, finally at me and said nonchalantly, "Your voice will do. You may sing the role tonight."

"And so I did. The show was not cancelled and the audience came. The audience had a similar reaction to my debut, as the company had earlier. They first were mesmerized by my voice and then they acclaimed me as a new bright light in the Paris music scene, especially the new patron, my old friend Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny. He loved it most of all, and suddenly remembered me as his friend from the old days in Perros." Christine turned away; her voice was choking with emotion. "Raoul came to me after the performance and reminded me of our past. To my surprise he had never forgotten me, even though it had been many years since we had seen one another.'

"You have grown up to be a beautiful girl Christine. We must renew our friendship, and maybe try for even more if you are open to doing so. Tell me do you have a beau? You must, you are too beautiful not to have one." Raoul both asked and answered in one breath.'

I shook my head 'no', "I have been too busy for romance Raoul. After my father died, I had to make my own way in the world. Madame Giry, the ballet mistress has taken me in as her foster daughter, and I have had others looking after me as well, especially my tutor."

"Do I know this tutor? Is he someone in the music world?" 'Raoul asked innocently. I hated answering the question because I did not know how to do so without sounding like I was crazy. But I could not lie to my old friend.' "Do you remember that story that we loved about little Lotte and the Angel of Music?"

'Raoul smiled fondly, "Of course I do. We read it many times that summer. I used to call you Lotte. In fact that is still how I think of you."

'I smiled back at him, "Well I do, sort of, have my very own angel of music. He watches over me and protects me, and makes me sing better than I ever could without his guidance."

"He sounds amazing. Sort of like a father figure, and by the way, I was sorry to hear that your father passed away. I always liked and admired him. He was a good man, and a great father to you." Raoul told me.'

"Thank you for your kind words Raoul about my father. I do miss him a great deal, I always will. He and I were so close, much closer than the average father and daughter, because, in the entire world, we only had each other. When he died I thought that my whole world died with him, but then my angel appeared. He promised me that he would help me learn to sing and then taught me that I would never be alone and forsaken as long as I had both him and my music to sustain me in the darkness," I explained.

"Your angel sounds like a fine father figure. I have an idea, why don't we go to dinner together and you may bring him with us, as a sort of chaperone. I would love to meet this man who has been like a father to you. I would like to thank him for taking care of my Lotte for all of these years." Raoul insisted kindly, taking my hand and kissing it. "I am quite entranced by you. I must admit. You are both gifted and beautiful," he added hoarsely.

I did not know how to answer him. He was the most handsome man that I had ever seen, and a Vicomte at that. He was as rich as Croesus as well. I wanted to say yes, but I did not know how I could explain to him that I had never truly seen my angel. Like the new managers I did not believe in non-corporeal beings but my angel belied that belief because I did believe in him. I did not know who or what he was. Only that he had been sent to me, by my father when I was feeling low and depressed, and had my angel had revived me and made my spirit soar. But how was I to explain to Raoul what I could not explain to myself? So I lied, "He is out of town."

Raoul raised an eyebrow, "Out of town, on the night of your debut? When you have become the toast of Paris?"

"I was a last minute substitution Raoul, he could not have known that I would sing tonight or he most certainly would have been here. Besides my elevation to Prima Donna is only temporary, La Carlotta will be back when her throat clears," I explained defensively.

Raoul looked at me, "Your voice is much better than hers. They should retire La Carlotta, she is well past her prime and needs to go."

"They will never do that." I told him. She is the Prima Donna who attracts the audience. She is too profitable to them to let go of her."

"Then I shall order them to do so. I am the Patron after all." Raoul insisted.

"You are one of five, and most of them would prefer that the Opera should make a good profit as well. I do not draw people like she does. They will not retire her until she wants to go. They have said that over and over again." I explained.'

'He looked at me and changed the subject, "Then your foster mother can chaperone us instead."

I shook my head 'no' I knew that my angel was probably listening and would want to speak to me, "I am sorry but she is not available tonight. I can go out with you tomorrow night. Besides I am very tired."

He accepted my excuse gracefully and told me, "Then tomorrow it shall be Lotte. No excuses."

"No excuses." I agreed.

He took my hand and kissed it once again and then gave me a courtly bow, "Until tomorrow Mademoiselle," he promised. "I will come to the performance and watch you once again if you end up singing."

'I suddenly felt a cold chill move through me, like a damp rain settling into my bones, I tried to ignore it, "The performance is sold out tomorrow night, Raoul."

'He snickered contemptuously, "I will take box five, it is always empty. The so-called Phantom will not use it."

"It has become a tradition that the managers will not sell it. Even the current new managers will not do so despite their skepticism about the Phantom." I explained.

Raoul laughed, "Well I have told them that they should sell it. It withholds a lot of revenue for the theatre to keep it idle."

'Again I felt a cold chill, and thought that I could hear a noise, of something breaking, I was surprised I had never heard the Phantom before but suddenly I did and I was slightly frightened. I warned Raoul softly, "Do not urge them to do so. The Phantom is not someone to anger. It is said that he can kill with a flick of his wrist."

"Who has told you such a thing? He is a figment of your imagination, a fabrication by the last managers." Raoul explained.'

"Meg Giry told me. She is my best friend here. She has seen him kill." I told him.'

"Nonsense, your friend has a good imagination, just like her mother. She too likes to warn us about the Phantom. I think that she has invented him to extort money from the managers." He added.'

"No Raoul she has not she is a good woman." I replied defensively, "Perhaps we should not have dinner after all." I added.'

"Please forgive me Lotte and have dinner with me. I promise that I will never disparage her to you again," he replied apologetically.

"Well alright." I agreed, accepting his apology. He was too handsome to stay mad at and he was my old friend. I very much wanted to dine with him, and so I did."

"He left but not before extracting a promise from me to have dinner then following night. Of course I never did show up that night." Christine explained while looking at Erik. "Fate had other ideas, or at least your father did."


	19. Chapter 19

This chapter is the beginning of the sequence of events that we all know. From this point on we will get more of Christine's point of view of the events as well. Remember that this story is based more on the book than on the play thus there is no Caesar leading Christine down the path. No Erik and Christine singing to one another. In this story Erik has been careful around Christine so she has only just put two and two together and realized that her Angel is also the Phantom. Erik will explain why that could be. Well on with the story…

Chapter 19.

The family ate their dinner, it was getting late and yet the children still wanted to hear more about their parent's past. The couple glanced at one another trying to decide who should take up the tale. Erik took a deep breath and again began explain his version of the events that had transpired on the night of Christine's debut.

"As I told you earlier, I was immensely proud of my student. Your mother worked very hard, eagerly following my instructions to the letter. I, in turn, felt a sense of satisfaction that I had never previously enjoyed, it exceeded even my pleasure in building the palace at Mazendaran, because I built it for a tyrant, this time I was helping an innocent girl to achieve both her dreams an my own. At that point in time, teaching your mother was the only thing that I had ever done that had not resulted in violence or a disappointment of some sort. I was glad of it, after my experience in Persia, I had lost my appetite for violence, particularly for killing. It was not that I truly had ever had one, but it bothered me to kill more than it had ever done before.'

' I suppose that I could say that I wanted to keep my hands as clean of death as was possible since my face looked like death. It did not mean that death did not follow me, of course it did. In those days death seemed to travel in my wake whether I wanted it to or not, just as it always had. In those early days, following the catastrophic war with Prussia, and the fall of the Empire, a man who looked like me, who could go out around Paris only at night, it could be very dangerous to walk about. As I prowled around the darkened streets, I would still have to occasionally resort to killing to defend my very existence. It was, as the British Biologist, Charles Darwin, said, survival of the fittest. I was a lion in the 'jungle', which is how I would describe the seething underbelly of Paris back then. The environment there, in the big city, was cruel and menacing. My Punjab, as always, was my weapon of choice, my most powerful means of self-defense. It was not that dangerous for me to use it and I attracted little concern from the authorities. The gendarmes did not care whether or not any of the people that I was forced to kill had fallen prey to murder; they were far more murderous than I was. If they ended up dead, as was inevitable, whether or not I was responsible, I was simply saving the government the trouble of feeding and housing them in the prisons of Paris or Devil's Island or in the worse cases 'Madame Guillotine'."

"Madame Guillotine?" Gustave asked curiously.

Erik replied, "The French still behead the worst criminals and traitors. Since I have been deemed as such, if I were to ever return there, it would be my likely punishment. That is why I can never go back to my homeland or take you there, although perhaps when you are a little older, I might send you there to get a proper education as a young gentleman."

"It is sad that you can never return to France. Do you ever miss France, Father?" Gustave asked.

Erik sighed, "All the time son. When you wander the world you find that there is no place like home, even if your old home was as unkind to you as France was to me. La Belle France is an easy place to love." Erik admitted, "But Canada has been kinder to me, more forgiving of a man such as me. It is the first and only place that I have ever lived where I have not been forced to kill people or despised for what I look like. I have killed no one in all the years that I have lived here."

"Poor Pere," Meg murmured sympathetically, "You have led a hard life. I wish that people were not so cruel to you back then, then you could have perhaps been a famous architect or composer."

Erik smiled at his daughter enjoying her kindly disposition. '_She is certainly her mother's daughter in temperament, not mine. Gustave is more like me quick to anger and prone to depression'_, he thought to himself, "I am a famous architect in Persia and Turkey. People are kind to me now, especially you. I would endure every horror that I have if the ending were the same. Of course it almost did not happen that way. I came very close to dying alone and unloved."

Meg looked at him questioningly, "Well what about Maman? And Madame Giry and Monsieur Khan? Didn't they all love you? You were so kind to Maman. Surely she must have seen that you were a good man or did _that man_ come between you and Maman? The real Vicomte?"

Erik replied, "He did, but I came between us even more. I frightened your mother so badly that she turned away from me and not just because of my hideous face."

"How did you frighten her and why?" Gustave asked. "I would have thought that you would have wanted her not to be afraid of you."

"I did not want her to be afraid of me, but nonetheless she was. Let me explain how and why by continuing with the story," Erik replied. He turned to Christine, "Feel free to fill in any of the details that you desire to add."

Erik looked back to the children, "I will not lie, and some of my behavior might disturb you. I have no excuse for what I did back then save for some ignorance as to the ways of humanity and more than a small measure of insanity. For that I can only apologize and remind you that I have truly changed and mended my ways."

He turned his attention specifically to Gustave, "I know that you have harbored some negative feelings towards my actions based upon what I have already told you. I cannot bring myself to blame you, I have tried to atone over the years but there are just some things that cannot be undone, like the death of my closest friend." Erik explained.

"Not really, Father, I blame the world far more than I blame you. You cannot help the fact that you were born with a deformity, and yet you were treated as a pariah." Gustave replied, smiling at his father. "I apologize for anything that I said before to make you think that I feel otherwise."

"Thank you son, but this next part and the rest of our story, all involves my interactions with your mother. My actions might be harder for you both to forgive, although she herself forgave me years ago." Erik explained.

"And you forgave me for my betrayals as well, my love." Christine added. "Do not minimize my own contributions to our troubles from long ago. I know that you will try to whitewash my own actions, ange, but I too was guilty of sins against you, many sins."

"Perhaps a little, but your main 'sin' was being innocent and beautiful and completely captivating." Erik reminisced.

His thoughts traveled back to that time and he began to explain, "For all of those years I had never violated my self imposed rule of not revealing myself to Christine as a man. I also refrained from acting as the 'Phantom' in her presence as well. I did not want to scare my student away from me, which I felt that I was sure to do should she suspect that the 'Phantom' and her 'Angel' were one and the same person. I wanted only to be her guide and guardian, a fatherly sort of relationship not a romantic one. Yet, as she grew older, neared womanhood, I started to notice her as something more than a mere student of mine with an incredible voice. I could not fail to observe with a growing sense of admiration that she had become an exceptionally beautiful young woman and my feelings began to change and become far from fatherly, I was a man after all. That observation scared me, because I did not want to have any sort of affection for her in that way. I tried to deny it. I knew that to let my interest in her become unleashed, it would more than likely mean disaster for everyone involved, especially for me.'

'I had previously sworn that I would remain celibate for the remainder of my life. As I told you before, I had given myself wholly to music, much like a Catholic priest consecrates himself to God. I thought that I was safer from temptation than a priest, because I had entombed myself in a world with even less temptations than a monastery, and because I felt that no woman would ever see me as a cause for temptation. Still, despite myself, I began to burn with pure lust for my student. I would fantasize about us together, how it might be for us to make love. I tried to suppress those thoughts, to strangle the emotion before it could get too strong for me to handle. But to my dismay, it only continued to grow as fast as she did, perhaps even faster. I knew in my heart that should I let it take me that I would be doomed to a hell worse than the one that I had already consigned myself to. There is no pain worse than unrequited love. No agony more heart wrenching. I would have preferred to remain my gypsy master's whipped dog than suffer through that feeling again.'

'Yet, all of my efforts failed, and I was rendered miserable. I knew from the beginning that an old, violent and hideous creature such as myself could never hope to win the love of such an innocent and beautiful young woman. In an attempt to stamp out my growing lust completely, I would punish myself for it by removing both my mask and my wig and forcing myself to stare at my own reflection for hours on end; just as the gypsies used to do to torment me. I wanted to remind myself what I truly was under my disguise, a hideous monster. I pointed out every flaw in my appearance, to myself, in the hope that it would make my desire for a romantic attachment with your mother whither and die, rooted out viciously like an un-watered weed. Still, I would cry tears of anger and despair, knowing full well that to reach for her in heaven, from my hell, was both useless and futile. I would remind myself that even if I could somehow win her love, what truly would I be able to do with her?'

'How I mocked myself for even believing that such a relationship was possible. I felt myself insane to even remotely desire such an untenable dream. I could not imagine that I could truly win your mother's love once she knew what I truly was a demon not an angel as she thought. Angels do not think about ravishing beautiful young women, they are above carnal desire. But I most certainly did suffer from such desires. The ravenous fires from hell burned deeply inside my soul, demanding that I try to sate them, they would torture me to no end. But for a time, I was able to suppress them. Despite Nadir and Antoinette's frequent urgings otherwise, I felt obliged to live in my prison far beneath the opera house and to rule it as my personal kingdom, alone, without a Queen to grace it. My face would never attract anything but disgust and violence; what business did I have in seeking to share my exile from humanity with anyone? How could I be so cruel and so selfish especially to a woman that I purported to care so much about?'

'Despite all of my efforts to turn back my growing feelings for your mother, in the end, I could not reject them any more than I could deny myself air to breathe they were fully part of me. Perhaps I might have succeeded in fooling myself a little longer, until sometime after Christine's debut, but the Vicomte came along with his youth and handsome face, and honorable disposition. I, the monster, could only look upon his easy interaction with Christine with a feeling of hopelessness and of course envy. The green-eyed monster of jealousy enflamed my long denied emotions causing them to flare up anew, and even stronger, and from there they quickly spun out of control. I was thereafter doomed to let my love fly free of the bounds in which they had been imprisoned. If her 'old friend' was truly the man that he appeared to be, then my doom was even more complete than fate that I had imagined before his appearance in our lives. I always knew and expected that some man would arise to claim her affections. Perhaps I might have stood a chance against some bumbling fool, like a sceneshifter or a vain fellow thespian, but this boy was everything that I was not. He was perfect.'

'I came upon them talking, just as I was ready to congratulate Christine for her amazing performance, and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw them speaking to one another. I had wanted to convey, to Christine, my pride for her and share in joy for what we had achieved. Before speaking to her, I had tried to assure that she was alone, but she wasn't. He was there, and I could see the romantic interest gleaming in his eyes. I recognized it from my own expression, which I would see in the mirror, and other lovesick swains that I had encountered over the years. He cared enough about her reputation to offer that I come along as a chaperone. I laughed at his naivety in believing such a meeting to be possible. Christine told him that I was not in town, which was the least controversial way that she could put such a meeting off. I was relieved that she did not try to explain to him about me. She had unwittingly protected my identity by doing so. He was so overly insistent that she agreed to go out with him the following evening, after the performance. I could see her hesitation but I knew that he would not rest until she should agree: why would he? She was so incredibly beautiful and sweet and talented. She deserved to become a queen with a man like him, displayed in the light like a finely cut jewel, not hidden away in the darkness with a loathsome beast like myself, I admitted to myself somewhat bitterly. I had no doubt, that the management would let him sit in my seat should he pay enough to tempt them do so. If it were to make them more profits, they might have given him a seat in hell if they had one to offer but they did not have to go that far to give him what I considered to be _mine_.'

'A sharp pain came over me and darkened my heart. I knew then that despite my more noble instincts, I would be selfish anyhow. I would have to at least attempt to win Christine's love, even if it were probably futile. I would find a way to make her happy as my bride. Perhaps she would look upon her 'angel' more kindly than anyone else had before because I had always treated her with kindness and dignity. I had had almost ten years to teach her that I was her friend, mentor and protector, maybe that would be enough to secure her affections, despite the hideousness of my face.'

'Against my own better judgment I returned to my lair and readied it for her visit. I knew that it would take her some time to remove her costume and ready herself for bed, and I used that time to prepare for her coming. I stole some food and wine from the kitchen of the Opera House, and lit many candles to chase away the biting cold and darkness that usually characterized my abode. I did not mind it, anything was better than a cage, or the woods, but Christine, a girl used to an ordinary room with windows and a finely stoked fire might not be as amenable to the cold of my lair. When I was satisfied I returned to the surface, and called to her gently in my most alluring voice. She answered me as if in a trance and I came out of the shadows and stood before her, letting her see me for the first time. She reeled in both shock and fright, backing away from me as quickly as she could but I calmed her with the gentility of my voice, and like a faithful hound she stopped. Of course she recognized my voice and eagerly obeyed me, just as she always had.'

'She looked at me with amazement, as if I were truly a celestial being materializing before her in the flesh, "Are you my angel and are you real?"

"Very much so my dear girl." I replied smoothly. "I was so proud of you tonight. I have decided to come to you as a man and take you with me on a visit to my home. I thought it time that I show you who and what I really am. Do not be afraid." I added, reaching for her.

She smiled meekly, "I am not. I have always wanted for you to be real and now my wish has come true, just like my wish to become a Prima Donna. It is you who have fulfilled my wishes, all of them, ange."

I replied softly, "You did it yourself. You were magnificent tonight. Your voice was so pure and so perfect that you made even the angels weep, and all of Paris has become your servant, including my own humble self. Perhaps by now you have suspected that I am, and have always been, a real man and not an angel."

"Yes, why did you hide in the shadows from me?" she asked me. "Why did you wait until now to reveal yourself to me as a man?"

"Because, in the beginning, you wanted and needed for me to be your angel of music; but the time for fairytales is over. You know who I really am?" I both asked and stated at the same time.'

"You are both my angel of music and the Phantom of the Opera, but yes I can see that you are also a man." She agreed.

"Yes, I freely admit that I am all three. Yet to most of the world I am only a ghost. Will you trust me enough to follow me? I have prepared a supper for you for us to celebrate your performance together. We have both worked hard to get you to this place? I know that you are not chaperoned, but I have been your guardian and protector since you were a child. I would never harm you," I breathed.'

'She suddenly gave me a fearful glance as if realizing that I might be dangerous for the first time, "You are not really a murderer are you?"

I did not answer the question directly. How could I? I did not want to lie to your mother, but neither could I tell her the truth. If she had known the whole truth about either my face or my nature she never would have willingly come with me, no matter what our past had been, so I appealed to her trust in me as her angel of music. "I promise you, I would never harm you. If I wanted to do so I could have easily done so years ago. You must believe me."

"She looked at me with a doe eyed stare, but then she did come with me. I can be hypnotic, a trait that I learned from living with the gypsies, and I used that skill on your mother to induce her to come with me." Erik admitted.

Christine smiled, "You did not hypnotize me, not really. I did trust you, perhaps foolishly, but as you had said, you were no stranger to me. I wanted to trust you because you had done so much for me over the years, and the girls who had warned me against you had a tendency to exaggerate, especially my best friend Meg, who was the most vocal of all of them. I found you to be very dark and handsome and mysterious, intriguing really. I threw caution to the wind and followed you. Perhaps I shouldn't have but I was young and very innocent. I did not think about the bad things that men can do to a woman in the shadows, only that I wanted to know more about you, my beloved angel."

"So you say my love. Nonetheless, she followed me down into the bowels of the theatre, glancing back once or twice but without questioning me why I should take her to such a dark place. Finally we reached the gondola and my lake and I poled her across its dark glassy surface to my secret lair." Erik explained. "My heart was filed with hope that perhaps I could somehow achieve what I had thought to be impossible and win your mother's love. Unfortunately the night did not go as planned as you will see."

Christine squeezed Erik's hand affectionately, "Well perhaps not then but we both had some growing up to do; after all I was barely out of childhood."

Erik sighed and then admitted, "And I needed to learn to understand a woman's mind. At the time you were a complete mystery to me."

"And you to me as well, ange." Christine added. "Your mask was not the only mysterious thing about you, everything was."

Erik mused, "We were each both intrigued but wary of the other, although we both would have rather died than admit it. You were completely unaware of the power that you had already possessed over me."

Christine replied, "I was a little frightened of you due all the rumors that I had heard about you, but I was drawn to you. You possessed an alluring magnetism that you did not even realize that you had."

Erik smiled, "I wish that I had. God knows that I wish that I had. I would have gone about everything differently. I would have lured you more patiently, more slowly. I might have been able to allay your natural fears about the Phantom through creating a familiarity to me as a living person, so that I might more fully gain your trust in me."

"But you would have needed to trust me as well, which you didn't. In any relationship trust must be mutual. You would not have willingly removed your mask for me." Christine stated firmly.

"No, I never could have done so willingly." Erik agreed. "I would have taken _that_ secret to my grave."

"Along with my trust Erik." Christine averred.

For a moment their eyes met in agreement, and then they continued their story.


	20. Chapter 20

This chapter is being released quickly because originally it was part of chapter 19, but that chapter would have been 7000 words long which is much too much even for me. Of course I ended up adding a lot more on to both halves. This half now has more than 5000 words.

Chapter 20.

Erik paused for a moment, and continued his narrative; "I took your mother's soft hand in my leather gloved hand and led her to my lair. I wore gloves because at the time I felt that I did not want to sully her purity with my blood soaked hands that reeked of death."

"They did not reek of death." Christine insisted.

"That is not what you used to say. You used to insist that you could literally smell the 'thousands of murders that I must have committed with my hands." Erik replied tersely, for a moment the pain from that old wound fleeted into his expression and then out again as he shook off the old sadness.

Christine gave him a guilt-stricken glance and nestled closer to him, "I have apologized you for those unkind words many times over. I told you a lot of things back then in an attempt to hurt you, most of them were lies. I believed that, if I hurt you badly enough, that you would let me go. I wanted to make you would realize the futility in loving me. Instead, I surrendered to you and it was the best decision that I ever made. I am grateful that you never really gave up on me," she explained. She brought up one of his thin musician's hand and rubbed her face on it affectionately like a cat and then kissed it. "Your hands are beautiful, just like the rest of you; even your deformity is beautiful in my eyes."

Erik gave her an adoring glance and then turned to his children and purred affectionately, "Your mother is a perfect example of the old adage that love is blind."

Christine smiled, "I can see more clearly than ever my love, certainly better than I did back then. I was a blind fool in those days rejecting you out of fear and spite, and a misplaced sense of loyalty. Now I know better and adore both you and your hands, which bring me nothing but pleasure, but let's continue with our story, it will be time for bed soon."

Erik nodded his agreement and then Christine picked up story by giving their children her point of view, "Your father's so-called lair was a fascinating place. When I first laid eyes upon it, I saw so many candles, and lights beckoning in welcome for me. I was utterly shocked and amazed by its appearance given where it was located. It was every bit as well maintained as the most elegant house, maybe more so because it contained wonders the such that I had never seen before and even electricity. I had not had much exposure to electricity prior to that night, it only served to make your father appear even more powerful than I had previously believed," Christine explained. "I had never seen so many magnificent things in my entire life. I was rendered speechless in amazement. I found out much later that they were all the inventions of a single brilliant man, your father. He even had an automaton that looked just like me." She explained.

"Which caused you to faint in fear the very moment that you beheld it, perhaps that was why you were literally so 'speechless'" Erik reminded her, in amusement.

"It was creepy," she opined firmly. "And I only fainted after you served me the most magnificent dinner that I had ever eaten in my life, up to that time." Christine admitted.

"Although later the boy took you to many of the best restaurants in Paris in his fine carriages pulled by his pedigreed set of horses. Whereas your dinner with me had been pilfered from the Patron's dining room, it was the best that I could do since I had only an hour to prepare for you." He turned to the children, "I figured that if your mother were to eat with the rich Vicomte on the next evening that I did not want a mere boy to upstage me." Erik explained.

"No one could ever upstage you Erik, not even him." Christine stated with a certainty.

"If you say so my love, but it did not serve its purpose, the evening started out well but became a disaster." Erik explained.

Christine sighed, "Only because I saw your exact replica of me. What were you thinking making such a thing and then allowing me to see it? It made me very uncomfortable, and I suddenly wondered what you planned on doing to me. Your reputation was horrible and there I was alone with you, and that sinister thing."

Meg cut in, "I would be afraid as well. Why would you make an automaton of Maman like that? I know that you love to create them but to let her see it when she did not even really know you, she must have thought that to be very bizarre and scary at the same time."

Christine laughed, "Especially since he clothed it in a wedding gown, a beautiful one. I did not even know his name let alone have any desire to marry him."

Gustave looked at his father, "Was that your way of proposing marriage to Maman? If so you had much to learn, even I know that you don't do it all at once. There is an art to dating," he lectured.

Christine and Erik exchanged amused glances. Erik then queried, "And how would you know exactly how to propose young man? Do you have experience in the area that I could tap into for next time?"

Christine teased her husband, "There will not be a next time. I fully claim you as my husband." She told him sweetly, placing a loving hand on his arm.

Erik looked at her with a smile, "Ah, I do so love being claimed as your man. Too bad that back then you were not so eager to lay your loving hands upon me. I would have welcomed them then most gratefully, just as I do now."

"I was young, naïve and very confused. For all of those years you had been my angel of music and not a man. I had no idea who you really were, and what you wanted from me. After all, I had come to the conclusion that you were really the dreaded Phantom of the Opera and I had heard all sorts of terrible stories about you. I had no idea which of them was true. Everyone at the Opera House was completely terrified of you and what you might do to them." Christine admitted. "Some went so far as to say that you stooped to both rape and murder. I was beginning to fear that I might fall victim to one or the other, or even both. I had started to doubt my own wisdom in coming with you."

"Most of the rumors were the truth, my love. Many of the tales about me was true in one-way or the other. Well, perhaps I did not murder just for fun, nor would I have stooped to rape an unwilling woman, but truthfully back then I had little conscience about disposing of an enemy or two should the try to challenge me, or harm you for that matter. I was very protective of both you and the Giry's." Erik admitted.

"Yet not a single solitary person ever explained to me about the quality of your heart, your great capacity for love, your elegance grace and good humor." Christine pointed out lovingly.

Erik looked at his wife in amusement, and teased, "Perhaps you were the only one that could ever truly see it."

Christine interrupted, "That was not true Nadir and Antoinette saw all of it in you. They both loved you dearly as a friend."

Erik replied, "Both Antoinette and the Daroga cared about me, but were under no delusions about the less savory aspects of my nature. They had both been exposed to them early in our relationships. When I brought you down to my lair, for the first time, everything was cloaked in darkness. No matter how I tried to light it up for you, my dark prison remained what it was, a gilded cage for a man who needed to escape from the world above him." Erik explained.

"I did not see it that way, I saw only the beauty of your creations." Christine mused wistfully, "Not even that night. It only added to my confusion about what sort of man would hide himself away from the world down there. Yet the answer came swiftly, that night. Once you played your magnificent organ for me a whole different world beckoned to me, and enticed me to remain right where I was. The sound pitch and quality was completely perfect down there. I realized that you, being the angel of music, would need to exist in a realm where the purity and the clarity of the sound were both so evident. When you played your music for me it felt as if you had brought me to heaven itself. I wanted to stay with you down there, forever, at that point in the evening, until I fainted at the sight of your automaton. "

"More like hell." Erik remarked glibly. "But for a moment even I forget what a dark and cold and lonely place that my lair really was. When you sang for me, in that beautiful angelic voice of yours, the sounds within my dark cold chamber resonated so perfectly. You brought light to that dark place for the first time ever in all of the years that I had made it my home. Together our song made even the aria that you sang earlier, during your debut, sound flat and unemotional in comparison. You made my spirits rise, as they had never done before. I felt that I had for the first and only time in my life escaped the narrow binds that both my mind and humanity had placed me in. I felt a symbiosis with you. Right then I knew that I had done the right thing in bringing you there. I would have given you the world if it would have made you stay, but of course I knew that I had to bring you back up to the world of light."

"I felt the same way as you did at that point. Your voice and your music were spectacular. I felt my spirit combine with yours in song and I was stricken with the urge to remain right there at your side in that magical place and time. I lost all fear of you all apprehension." Christine explained remembering that night vividly and her emotions. "If I had not seen the automaton I might never have fainted and if I hadn't fainted then perhaps it would have ended differently."

"If you had not fainted I would have never dared to let you stay through the night, but I did not dare not to after that. I needed to keep an eye on you and make sure that you would be all right; you had taken a hard fall and hit your head. I was afraid that you might have sustained a concussion. I carried you to my guest room and gently laid you down on the very bed that I had bought especially for you in what I knew to be your taste, just in case you ever had decided to stay with me. I did not dare defile you by undressing you, but still I stood for a short time and admired your peaceful sleeping form, envying the quiet uninterrupted sleep that you were capable of enjoying. I had never stood that close to you in all of the years that I had known you. I did not dare do so before and risk you waking up. But that night I did because I had could not help but to wonder about what it would like to be so unsullied and innocent. I then returned to the organ and played gentle music for you so that you would dream only the most beautiful dreams. I fell asleep seated there at my organ still admiring your incomparable beauty. I wondered what it would be like to call you my own." Erik explained.

For a moment both husband and wife, forgot whom they were telling their story to. Their eyes suddenly were locked in sync to one another's. A spell seemed to transfix them, and past and future merged into one moment. Christine blushed at the thoughts that were transfixing her, still feeling as if she were that girl from so long ago. They did not have these moments as often as they wanted to anymore; they had been married for a while and could take one another's warm feelings as a given, as most married couples do. Their hunger for one another was rarely fully sated because life was simply too busy. Gustave watched them and then cleared his throat. The noise returned them to the present. Christine blushed again, this time in embarrassment as she realized how they had behaved in front of their children. That was another reason that those sorts of moments were fewer. They could hardly act like young lovers in front of the children, which was somewhat inappropriate for the mature couple that they wanted their children to perceive. They could not set a bad example for them to follow.

To change the tone and return to the present she continued the narrative, "I woke not remembering where I was. I looked around in a panic, not recognizing anything. I gathered myself together and came out of the strange bedroom into the great room where your father was slumped over the organ fast asleep. He had not bothered to carry himself to bed. I suddenly remembered the night before with a smile. I looked upon his sleeping form and my hands felt twitchy as if willing me to approach your father. I was seized with a sudden uncontrollable urge to swipe the mask off of your father's face and see what it was hiding. I was sure that he was only hiding his face to keep his identity a secret. I thought that perhaps he was a patron or a player in the troop, who simply did not want people to know who he was; after all he was the Phantom of the Opera. I was not prepared for what I would actually see, and when his face was revealed, I screamed in terror and horror at the sight of it. I had been completely shocked and, to my eternal shame, disgusted by the sight of his deformity. I should not have reacted in such a terrible manner but I could not help myself and thus the course of what was to follow was irretrievably set."

Erik recalled hoarsely, feeling as if he were back in his lair and he was reliving the moment, "I will never forget the sound of that scream for as long as I could live. It spurred me into losing my temper, as I realized that from that point on, all hope for love between us had been dashed by what she had done. I felt betrayed and violated as well. I was sure that I would have to hold her there forever, as my prisoner, to keep her from spilling my darkest secrets. I lashed out at her in my pain and despair. It brought to mind all of the past times that I had been unmasked and tormented, ridiculed and most of all rejected by those that I thought might have loved me. It was as if I were reliving each and every terrible rejection that I had ever received all at once. Yet again I was made to feel monstrous and unworthy of love or compassion. As a result of these emotions, I called your mother terrible names and could barely restrain myself from choking the life out of her. I had lost control of myself and felt only a feral red rage inside of me, nothing more," he turned away as he began to lose control of his emotions.

Christine stepped in and continued telling the story from her point of view,

"I daresay I was terrified of your father. That red rage that he described wrapped itself around me like a noose and I _did _feel that he was choking me even if, in reality, he was not even touching me. I found his face to be horrible, and frightening, I will not deny it. His rage twisted it even more and he looked to be exactly the murderous creature that he was reputed to be. I expected the mask to be something that he used to amplify his mystique as the Phantom of the Opera, not as a covering for a hideous deformity. I cowered away from him, throwing up my arms as a defense, as if that would have truly worked. I felt so helpless and alone. I was sure that I trapped below the opera house with a complete madman and that he was about to murder me. This was not my beloved teacher, friend and confident; the angel of music that had inspired my soul to release the music that was inside of me. This was the first time that I had actually met the Phantom of the Opera, and he was even more terrifying than I had heard that he was; and I was alone with him, so utterly alone and in danger. I was sure that I would never see the light of day again. I prayed that he would get my murder over with quickly so that I wouldn't suffer too greatly in my final moments. I closed my eyes so that my last sight in life would not be his rage engorged, and twisted hideous face. But the end that matters did not work out as I had expected. When my end did not come, I shuddered, believing that the worst was yet still ahead; that I would not be given the blessing of an easy and painless end."

Erik had regained his composure and carried on, "Gradually my rage retreated like an angry sea ebbing away from the beach, calming me down.

I looked at the poor pathetic victim of my rage and realized that I had destroyed even more than the mere revelation of my face alone would have wrought. Perhaps if I had behaved like a gentleman and not a monster she would not have cowered in such fear from me. A terrible sadness settled into my soul when I realized, once again and even more, that I would _never_ have the chance to win her love after what I had done. Sure she had violated me, and had screamed and recoiled, in horror and terror, like just almost everyone else had done before. But was that really so unexpected and worthy of my rage? I had made everything so much worse with my ferocious and uncontrolled response. I knew that I had confirmed the worst about myself to my unwitting victim. I tried to speak her, to both apologize and to try to explain that I would never harm her; but the words just stuck to my tongue, as if they were glued there. I could not say a word. My soul was too bloody and broken to allow me that privilege. Instead I just stood there mutely staring at my victim with my hands covering both my face and my eyes both to shield her from viewing my hideous features, and to shield me from viewing her terrified expression. I was desolate with feelings of both pain and betrayal. I realized that I had been rejected once again and one more door had been slammed shut in my face."

Christine took her husband's hand and squeezed it, as if to belatedly comfort him, "I gradually lost a small portion of my fear, and I saw the mask lying on the floor beside me. I picked it up, and dusted it off; I then gathered the courage to bring it to him. I wanted to restore my teacher and the gentle man who had brought me to his home. I thought that perhaps if I did, he would let me go. He seemed more sad than angry by then. I could see the tears rolling down his cheeks, and if I had not been so afraid, I might have tried to comfort him, because in my heart I knew that he needed comforting. Yet, I was frozen by my fear of him from doing so. To my eternal shame I could not touch him or offer him my sympathy. Like him, I was rooted in the same spot. Frozen by so many different swirling emotions. I was wishing that I could flee from that dark and terrifying place, and most of all from him. I never wanted to see him again or experience the same terror that I had been made to feel."

Erik then recalled, "Her gesture returned a small portion of my hope. Perhaps I could save something from the disaster after all. I resolved to show her that I was not a monster, that I was a man like any other. I replaced the mask on my face, and straightened out my wig, covering both my hideous face and bald head, and I choked out a half strangled apology for my previous actions. Unfortunately the damage had been done, nothing that I could say or do would allay the fear that had arisen and come between us. It had destroyed everything that she and I had built up between us. Our old relationship was gone, and could not be replaced by a new one. At the time I did not realize that the relationship was deeper and healthier than either she or I had given it credit for. Somewhere down deep our souls still recognized our bond, but our minds did not know what our souls did, and we rejected the chance at reconciliation. I dithered with my intentions, not knowing whether or not to return her to her world of light above, or to keep her down below in my self made hell, as Pluto did Proserpina. Could I bring her light down to my dark abode? Or would she wither up and die in the cold reality of my prison?" Erik paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, and then continued.

"In the end I decided to hold her for a little while more. I wanted to try to salvage what I could of our relationship by keeping her there and showing myself to be a gentleman and not a brutal fiend. I let a kernel of hope fester in my heart that if I could show her that I was not as terrible as I appeared to be, at first glance, that perhaps she would grow to care for me at the very least as a friend, just as the Persian had. He too had reservations about me in the beginning but grew to seek my friendship. Perhaps a little familiarity would do the same for Christine, and so I relayed to her some of my plan.

"My dear, I have decided to let you go after you stay with me for a short time. I want you to see that I am not the monster that you perceive me to be," I explained to her. "Would you spend a little time with me? Lets say two weeks? And then at the end of that time I will let you go I promise," I asked my eyes pleading with her to accept my offer. To my relief she agreed but I could still hear the quivering in her voice and wondered what she was really thinking."

Christine cut in, "I was thinking that I needed to agree to whatever you proposed short of rape. I would have died before allowing you to touch me in that way. I was still terrified of you, and wanted nothing more than to be as far away from you as possible; to get you out of my mind and out of my life, but I knew that, like any hostage, I had to go along with you. So I steered myself to accept your proposal and make the best of a bad situation."

Erik continued, "I wrote to the managers one of my infamous notes where I praised your mother's performance, and then told them that 'Mademoiselle Daae was both overwrought and overwhelmed by her new status and needed time to herself to adapt to her changed position. I explained that she would be going to a spa to take the waters, and relax without undue interruptions. I also reminded them not to sell box five to the Vicomte de Chagny, and that they should find a new Patron: preferably someone older, who did not impose upon the performers with their questionable propositions of dubious intentions."

Christine laughed, "The only one with 'dubious intentions' was you my love. Despite my clear fear of you, and my disdain for your face, you still hoped to convince me of your merits and, at minimum, restore our amity and, at best, try to win my love."

Erik nodded in agreement, "But in my own mind, I was just trying to salvage some sort of relationship, and perhaps keep you from falling prey to the charms of a certain nobleman. Of course the management, as always, failed to listen to my proposals. They did sell Box Five to the Vicomte, and allowed him to continue his patronage. In fact they increased his role at the Opera house, asking him to use his connections to enhance the security of the Theatre against me. The de Chagnys were very well connected with the new government despite the fall of the Emperor. They had cultivated friendships in all political camps so that regardless as to what happened they would have influence on all sides. I will admit, ergo reluctantly, that the de Chagnys knew how to position themselves to their advantage politically. Raoul de Chagny had tied his fortunes to the new republic, and proclaimed himself to be a proud proponent of 'democracy', while his brother had positioned himself to be a powerful ally of the Emperor. He was the intermediary between the new Imperial family and the Ancien Regime. The de Chagnys have always been known to have a foot in the door of any side of a war."

Christine interrupted, "That is not fair. They were being intelligent. Didn't you yourself tell me that you admired that trait of theirs? They had a knack for survival, just as you do."

Erik replied softly, "You misunderstand me. I do admire that trait in them. If I were in their position I would do exactly the same. France has not exactly had a stable government in the recent past, and truly not even during the rule of the 'Ancien Regime'. There have always been factions wanting this or that, and the de Chagnys always won out in the end, and never lost their titles or riches precisely because they had such an excellent instinct for survival. Of course, since their youngest scion's interests clearly clashed with my own, I was not exactly pleased with the notion that he would remain a patron. I might have even shared my box with him, but I had no intention of sharing you with such a handsome and honorable boy. I knew that if I did so that you would flee from me, and never return. I felt that I could not allow for that eventuality to happen, no matter what your thoughts about it might be. I believed that if I could keep you from de Chagny for a couple of weeks, and make you more familiar with me that I would again establish a solid foundation for our relationship. Unfortunately that did not quite work."

Christine queried, "Do you really think that darling? After all I am here now, beside you and loving you with all my heart. Do you think that you really lost me in the end?"

Erik sighed, "I suppose not, but at the time I thought that my battle was lost. After the two weeks were over I grew more and more convinced that you despised me. The fearful look never left your eyes and the moment that you were back up there in the light, you sought out the Vicomte and began to renew your friendship with him. It did not take long for that friendship to turn to something more. In the meantime I had alienated both the Persian and Antoinette Giry by holding you down in my lair against your will. Both of them separately came to see me and tell me how disappointing and horrifying that my actions were, and yet I defied them. I hid you away from both of them, despite their attempts to get me to give you up. I told them that I really had sent you to a spa and pretended to be hurt and upset at their 'so-called baseless allegations'. My sanity had begun to crumble knowing that once again I faced rejection by someone that I loved deeply.'

'Losing the approval of my only friends did not serve to help my sanity either. I was convinced that the world misunderstood me, and that I was truly all alone and always would be. Even in my own mind I was disgusted with my actions but I was locked into their consequences irrevocably by then. I had grown to believe that I was better off with no friends or love then the 'flawed' sort of friendship that was offered to me. At the time my lack experience had not offered me much knowledge about human relationships. I did not realize that criticism and disappointment could actually symbolize a stronger sort of friendship. I mistook concern for disapproval, and thus wrote off both parties as disloyal friends. Sadly the opposite was the case they were better friends than I ever had known or deserved. It was I who was the flawed friend, not them. But to all of our misfortune I did not see that at all, and continued to relish my victimhood. I forced your mother to remain with me for the entire time."


	21. Chapter 21

Warning this chapter contains some sexual language in the part in between the stars… For those of you who enjoy reading such stuff this is a little treat for you, a small reward for your patience. For the rest of you, it is a very small portion of the chapter.

Chapter 21.

Christine and Erik looked at the ornate grandfather's clock, which had just struck eleven, long past the children's normal bedtimes of ten o'clock for Gustave, and nine for Meg respectively.

Erik turned to Christine with a glint of anticipation in his eyes, his seductively silken voice remarking, "Don't you think that it is past their bedtime, mon amor?"

Christine loved it when Erik used that exquisitely dulcet tone. She felt as if she could follow him to the ends of the earth. His was what convinced her that he truly was her angel of music when she was a child. To this day she was not entirely convinced otherwise. No mere mortal could have such a beautiful voice, but her husband did, and thus she was able to enjoy its beauty everyday. She knew why her children were so enthralled by his story telling technique, because she felt exactly the same way.

She met Erik's gaze with a smile and then replied almost smugly, "I think that you are right." She turned to their children and ordered, "You both have heard enough about us for this evening. It is definitely time for all of us to go to bed, so run along and get in your pajamas and if you would like we will tuck you in. Your father and I are very tired, we are not as young as you."

Meg complained, "But I want to know more. You can't stop right here. How about that we stay up just a little longer, I promise to go to bed without a fight but only if we can wait until midnight. I don't want you forget where you were in the story. I want to hear everything about what happened back then."

Erik replied smoothly, "I promise you that we will not forget, we will tell you more tomorrow." He quickly glanced at his wife and gave her a covert conspiratorial smile, "As a special treat, we will let the dogs sleep with you tonight one of them with each of you, and the cat as well."

Christine whispered under her breath, "You are a master manipulator even now."

Erik smiled, "That I am, mon amor," he whispered back, "but then again my goal is so _advantageous _for both of us."

Christine laughed, "You love turning matters to your own advantage don't you, ange?"

Erik lifted a sardonic eyebrow, "Of course I do, but are you complaining? Shall I stop?"

"No, of course not, not when I know that it works in my favor as well." Christine admitted with a smile.

Meg looked at both of her parents, "What are you whispering about? Hopefully it is about letting us hear more."

Gustave observed to his sister, "Hardly Meg, they are planning on doing what adults like to do alone. I can tell when they want to hug and kiss one another."

"Yuck!" Meg complained to her brother, "Do you have to be so graphic? I can't understand why anyone would want to be kissed on the mouth."

"Don't be so modest Meg. I know that you have started to think about boys yourself." Gustave teased, "In a couple of more years you won't mind being kissed either. In fact you will find it most pleasant. I know I do, and I used to hate girls."

"Eeew." She replied turning to her parents irately, "Would you please tell him to stop?"

Christine laughed, "See, it really is time for bed, just as we told you. But yes Gustave, your sister is right, it is highly inappropriate to bring up such matters."

Gustave replied defiantly, "Then stop looking at Father like you want to kiss him right in front of us."

Christine blushed, "I am not." She looked at her husband, "Am I?"

Erik laughed, "Gustave is right, you most definitely are doing so and I do not find it yucky at all." He turned back to the kids, "Which is why this conversation is finished for the evening. Your mother and I need to find some time to be alone. Go get ready for bed, now!" he commanded.

Both children looked at him still reluctant to go to bed, but they obeyed him.

A short time later the kids were snug in their beds, with their animal companions exiled from Erik and Christine's room, beside them. Erik looked at the clock on their bedroom wall and remarked, "How long do you think that we have before one of the animals or children decide to come in here?"

"An hour or two at the most," Christine replied. "Animals and children have always been attracted for you."

"Hmm, not really enough time to be alone but it will have to do," Erik observed. "Who would have guessed back then that we would be so anxious to spend time alone together? Recalling those days reminds me just how far that we have come from those two people that we were."

"Tonight, you reminded me just how much you hated yourself back then. When you speak of that time, your voice takes on a certain amount of bitterness and self-loathing that I have not heard from you in years," Christine observed. "Do you ever resent me for how I treated you back then? How I turned my back on you, my best friend and teacher, because of your face?"

Erik smiled at her gently with no trace of bitterness in his voice, perhaps a small dose of sadness but nothing more. Time had blunted any anger that he had ever possessed towards Christine, and changed it to love and forgiveness.

He placed his arms around her and embraced her, replying, "No, of course not. It was more than my just face that ultimately drove you away from me; ultimately it was my temper, and self-loathing. I take full responsibility for it, all of it. True, we both were much younger and still had much to learn, me in particular. I needed to accept how to walk in my own shoes, and not despise myself, before I could deem myself to be truly worthy of your love and affection. I did not realize that I had even held myself to such a low standard until you pointed it out. I will never forget when you shouted at me so disdainfully, _'How could you expect me to love you when you do not even love yourself? Why should I be expected to do what you cannot?'_ At the time, it wounded me to hear you give me that assessment. Ultimately, your choice of words, spoken in anger at me, made me examine myself in the harsh light of day.'

'I realized that, from the beginning, my own self-hatred sabotaged any hope of winning your love. There are times, even now, when I wallow in self-pity and despise who I once was. I still regret my actions back then, but not nearly as often or as much as before. By granting me your love and giving me a family to adore, you have healed much of my pain. If it wasn't for what happened in my lair in the end, I think that I might have forgiven myself even more than I have; but the Daroga's fate still haunts me, just like the boy still haunts you. It is hard to build ones own happiness on a foundation of betrayal and death, as we have been forced to do. Still, the past does not lessen my love for you, or my happiness emanating from the sort of life that we have lived together. The bitter man that I was could never have imagined the day when such a blissful existence could be mine. Back then I feared to look ahead, because I believed that it would never bring anything more to than the continuation of the pain and loneliness that I had already endured. My utter lack of hope is what ultimately drove me over the edge into madness. Your love is what brought me back to life. I am proud that we were able to rebuild our lives out of the ashes of the past, and find such an exquisite and beautiful love between us."

"I am proud of us for doing so, as well. I wish that I had the clarity about your nature then that I do now. Never doubt that you are a very good man, and the best husband and father in the world. I cannot quantify how much I love and cherish you." Christine stated sweetly.

"I don't really doubt myself anymore as I used to; sure I have my bouts of moodiness and depression. You cannot help but to see them. But you know me well and surely have realized that I always be that way." Erik told her.

Christine nodded, "I do, you can be very moody; but let me see what I can do to lighten your mood. Let's talk talking, so that you might show me some of that 'exquisitely beautiful' love that you just mentioned. I want to feel your love, and show you my own, reminding you that it is reciprocated."

Erik raised his eyebrow questioningly, and asked her playfully, "What did you have in mind Madame de Chagny, he cooed?

She pulled his face to hers and gave him a gentle peck on his damaged cheek, "Why don't you make yourself more comfortable and then you will find out." She sat on her side of the bed and patted it with a clear invitation.

Erik chuckled, "How easily you kiss me there now, and without disgust."

"What is there to be disgusted about? It is just a bit of mottled skin, and seeing a little bit of skull and brain makes me feel that a few less barriers lie between your incomparable mind and my lips. Why don't you let me show you just how truly beautiful and alluring that I find you my husband?" she added huskily, in a clearer invitation.

"If you insist, mon amor, " he purred in his beautiful and seductive voice.

Begin M content

He sat up for a moment and helped her out of her corset; he then began to give her gentle kisses up and down her face and neck. Christine felt each one of them with a shiver of delight. Erik then freed her full and beautiful milky white breasts from the rest of their bindings and looked upon hungrily and with admiration, "You are magnificent," he breathed, and then he nibbled on a nipple and continued his gentle probing and caressing of her.

Christine felt her nipples tingle with torrents of pleasure, and closed her eyes to let her body enjoy the sensations that Erik never failed to create in her. He was such a gifted man in the area of lovemaking as well. He would use his long, strong and gentle hands to play her most sensitive parts as skillfully as if they were the keys of a finely tuned organ and he was playing one of his compositions. She could not contain her moans of pleasure while he both caressed her, and bit her, in just the right way, to elicit the very sounds of unbridled joy from her that he desired. How could she have ever denied this man anything when he was such a maestro at giving pleasure, she thought to herself in brief regret? The thought passed quickly, buried yet again as Erik once more found the proper place to impart yet more exquisite pleasure to her. Her body accepted his offering of his love with an eager contentment, relaxing completely allowing his fingers to unlock the most pleasurable responses from her. She wreathed in pleasure, imperceptive to anything beating of his heart, the heat of his hands, and the pleasurable feel of his lips and tongue on her own, placing his mark upon her, proudly claiming her as his own. Her back arched in excitement like a playful cat; she purred her contentment exclaiming her love.

Christine eagerly undressed her husband, to return to him what he had given so generously to her. She gingerly planted kisses on his body as well, probing his most sensitive parts with her soft caressing hands. Erik was panting in excitement like an eager dog in heat. Gradually as the pleasure built, he could feel his member rise engorged and then explode inside of her. He burned his way deep inside of her, feeling her quiver with sensations of ecstasy. When they were finished making love, they fell asleep in one another's arms only to be disturbed, a short time later, by the sound of dog paws scratching on their door.

Erik yawned lazily after eying the clock, "Two o'clock in the morning, they actually let us have a little time to ourselves."

Christine replied, "Never enough time alone anymore."

Erik teased, "There was a time that even a moment alone with me was too much for you to handle."

Christine replied, "And there was a time when you made me too scared to see clearly."

They looked at one another and laughed, "What fools we were wasting all of that time back then," Erik observed softly encircling her in his arms.

Christine whispered in agreement, "What fools indeed."

The morning arose and the day was a little nicer and less snowy than the day before. It had warmed as well.

"Perhaps the roads will clear by tomorrow. " Erik told his family, after breakfast was over. "If so, we can make a trip into town to get some supplies you may even be able visit some of your friends. You must feel restless being trapped here."

Meg replied, "Not really, Father. If it hadn't snowed so much you would have never told us your story. We are ready to hear more of it."

Erik gave Christine a glance and smiled, "Well perhaps we are not ready to tell it. It is not pleasant. There was much so much turmoil that we both went through before we found happiness together."

Gustave cut in, "We know Father but we still want to hear about it. You have yet to tell us how we became de Chagnys."

"Well we still have more to explain about those days before we get to that point." Christine told her children.

"So, it is sad like most of the story has been so far?" Meg asked.

"Yes, I am afraid so my love, that time was a period of much sadness, anger and misunderstanding between your father and I. But you already know that it has a happy ending, at least for your father and I," Christine replied. "Your father deserved a happy ending after all that he went through, please remember that and do not judge either of us," Christine reminded them.

"We will not judge," Both children replied in unison. They looked at their father, "No matter what happened we will always love you."

Erik smiled, "I love you both too."

"Were you very very bad, Father?" Meg asked almost sounding afraid to hear the answer.

Erik shook his head yes, "Unfortunately I was pretty terrible. You already know that I kidnapped your mother and held her against her will. To be fair to myself, I did treat her kindly, as an attempt to show her that I was not the monster that she thought me to be, but that did not truly make her feel much better. I would not let your mother go for almost two weeks. Try as she may, she could not hide her terror of me. For a short time during that stretch, I had considered keeping her there with me forever, and forcing her to remain my prisoner. I had all but convinced myself that there was no other way out of our mutual predicament. I was afraid that she might go to the police for protection from me, and even lead them to my hiding place. Although, I was not yet truly a wanted man in France, the gendarmes probably would have figured out that I was the man who had killed several brigands over the years. Murder and kidnapping are both crimes that were punishable by execution and I feared such an end. I was not afraid of death only that, once they executed me that my remains would be put on display, as a curiosity. But, despite that risk, I loved your mother too dearly to keep her against her will. I would have died for her willingly anyway, so as a matter of conscience I could not keep her with me. I let her go free, but not before I made her promise that she would never reveal to anyone about either where she had been or who she had been with.'

'As I told you earlier, I sent a note around indicating that a friend had taken her to Evian to take the waters there. Of course both of my friends knew that I was somehow involved and pressed me to free her, if I indeed held her. The Vicomte was beside himself with worry, because he kept insisting upon the fact that your mother had agreed to have dinner with him the very next night and had made no mention of the fact that she would be leaving. Fortunately no one paid him too much heed except for Meg Giry because no one else cared about the absence of a mere understudy. Meg and the Vicomte put their heads together and insisted upon exploring every inch of the opera house. When your mother was not found, the Vicomte had set the gendarmes about looking for Christine, but they did not take their task too seriously. You see performers were not held in high esteem, they were considered by many to be little better than ladies of the night, so they searched only half-heartedly. Most people assumed that Christine had found such an admirer and went off with him, or even with me, since I had written that note. As your mother told you, I had a reputation as a rapist as well, although it was completely unfounded."

Meg interrupted, "What is a lady of the night? Do they only live at night?"

Christine laughed, "What your father means is that there are some ladies who wait upon men, for money and not for love."

"Like a waitress in a restaurant? What is so bad about that? You always tell us to treat our social inferiors as equals." Meg insisted indignantly.

Erik explained, "They do more for men than just serve them meals they get paid to kiss them."

Meg's eyes opened as wide as saucers, "Like Mary Magdalene? Sister Beatrix always talks about her as if she were a terrible person before she turned good."

"Yes, like her." Erik replied.

"Were you then a man of the night since you were bad back then and liked the night?" Meg asked.

Erik laughed at her innocence, "I wish. It would have been quite a pleasant change to be wanted in that way but I am afraid that I was not bad in that sort of way."

Christine teased, "Well I beg to differ. I think that I would enjoy it if you could be my man of the night."

Erik eyed her with amusement and gave her a courtly bow, "For you my love I would be anything or anyone."

Christine replied, "I love you just the way that you are."

Erik replied, "Hmm. I am glad you see me that way now." He looked at his children, "Back then she saw me far bit differently. During her stay with me, she cowered in my presence as if she were afraid that I would eat her for my supper even though I left her to eat in peace. The mask that I wore back then was more primitive than my current one and I could not eat in front of her without taking it off. I would not subject her to my hideous face again to do so. I vowed to myself to never show her my hideous face again. When I let her go I knew that she would not likely return to me willingly, and I mourned the loss of our friendship greatly.'

'At least that gesture did have the approval of the Daroga, who observed to me, "Despite your denials I knew all along that you were holding that poor girl. You obviously know that it was wrong to do so because you released her. You did the right thing when you finally did let her go. You could not have held her forever, doostam. It would have torn both you and her apart on the inside. It is not in your nature to hold someone against his or her will. You remember all too well what it was like to be a prisoner I know that you do. She would have grown to hate you even more, and you both her and you for imposing yourself on her."

I growled, "How would you know how I feel Persian? Perhaps I should have kept her and used her against her will." I challenged, just to annoy him. "Maybe my tastes have changed and I have started to prey upon innocent girls just for fun. Why not? I am already accused of doing so? Who will stop me if I tried, you? Also, why do you continue to call me your friend? I am no more your friend than a hawk could befriend a dove."

"You would never do that?" The Persian replied but a little shakily and questioningly, as if he wondered whether or not I would. "Why do you never acknowledge our friendship doostam? I have known you for fifteen years and you still deny me?" The Persian complained.

"Perhaps because you are such a judgmental and meddlesome wretch Persian. You are always trying to appeal to a conscience of mine that I simply do not have. I am an evil kaffir with little hope for redemption." I told him. In truth I enjoyed yanking the Persian's chain. He truly believed that I was capable of being one the best of men, and I insisted on repudiating that notion. Perhaps I was afraid that I would disappoint him, should I have actually taken him up on the challenge. I cannot tell you exactly why I continued to push him away, but I did. Yet, later on, his death at my hands served to do what his years of cajoling could never do; from that point on I swore to honor his memory by becoming the man that he had begged me to become, and not the wretch that I claimed to be. I do not know if he is looking down upon me from his Islamic 'paradise' and smiling at the man that I have become. I rather hope so." Erik explained almost tearfully as once again he recalled his old friend.

"I am sure that he does, Erik," Christine iterated, "Remember how you used to tell me that my father watched over me to comfort me when I was mourning him as a child? I am sure that your Persian friend is doing the same for you."

"But you were not responsible for his death in the least bit. You did not kill his spirit as I killed the Daroga's." Erik replied.

"Perhaps he did not commit suicide when he was trapped in your maze. You said yourself that he was a strong man, firm in both spirit and faith. He could not have been anything but that since he spent so much time trying both to help you, and to save you from yourself, despite your sometimes hostility to him." Christine reminded him.

"Do you think so Christine? " he asked like a child asking a teacher a question about a lesson.

"I know so ange. I have told you this many times and yet you still persist in believing the worst." Christine reminded him.

"You are right, I do do that don't I?" Erik admitted.

"Then perhaps this time you will believe me." She turned to her children, "Make your father swear not to believe the worst about his friend's fate any longer. Perhaps he will listen to you more than he has to me."

Gustave turned to his father and told him, "Maman is right. You must listen to her. I am sure that your friend did not kill himself. He is undoubtedly looking down from heaven and smiling at you. Isn't that what you told me when old Jacques died a few years ago. You promised me that he would come bounding towards me, barking in joy when I see him in heaven someday."

Erik smiled, "I guess that you are right Gustave." He turned to Christine, "He is a wise boy."

"So you will listen to him then?" she asked gently.

Erik nodded affirmatively, "Yes of course."

His family hugged him, "Good." Christine replied. She turned to her family, "That being said, when your father released me, I almost immediately sought out Raoul de Chagny, just as your father feared that I might. I dressed myself in a concealing black cloak and took a hackney to his estate. I was afraid that my old friend had truly believed that I had stood him up and I needed him to know that I hadn't. I also instinctively knew that he would protect me. I was still petrified that your father would take me prisoner once again, and never let me go, even though he had promised otherwise."

"I had no intention of doing so Christine. I knew that I had lost the battle to keep you. I did not want to drive you away even further from me. Instead I hoped that a certain amount of distance and space might make you realize that I had no intention of harming you. I had hoped that at least you would continue your studies with me as your teacher. We had made great collaborators, and I had hoped that you had gleaned, at least that, from our years together." Erik explained.

"I did not want to think about music in any way, it made my thoughts turn to you when I did, and I wanted no part of it. I had begun to dread singing and performing even though I had no choice but to do so. I had no money or any talents other than singing. The acclaim from my debut had brought much respect for my talents, even if the managers were not ready to retire La Carlotta as you wanted them to do." Christine reminded him. "I would have fled from the Palais Garnier, never to return, but even then I was sure that you would find me and sing songs in my head and force me to return to you forever. As I look back upon it, perhaps if you had forced me to return our happiness would have began sooner."

Erik laughed, "I much prefer you this way, as my 'living and consenting bride'. Back then I could not understand your attitude towards music at least. Our music was the one thing that I had always believed would remain as a bond between us. Our connection through music was deep and very soulful. In the past few years before your debut I barely had to speak and you would know what I wanted to see from you, what I needed you to feel to bring my music and your voice together in a union. Unlike me our music was not hideous or monstrous it was beautiful and meaningful. Your new attitude towards music hurt me even more than your unmasking and subsequent rejection of me had done." Erik explained a small degree of the past pain crept into his voice as he recalled his emotions from that time.

"I know." Christine admitted. "My fear of you crept into even my love of music. It linked me to you and I feared that you would overwhelm me and control me through the music itself. I wanted to be finished with anything that might still bind me to you. I felt a strong urge to turn away from anything that you could use to control me. I turned to Raoul because I feared that I could never have stood up to you on my own. I knew that he would stand and fight for me, for my freedom from both you and your music."

"The boy was more than happy to step in and save you from the '_thing', the monster_ that he convinced even more you that I was." Erik pointed out bitterly.

"He did step in. Right away he took me to dinner. I believed that you would not follow since I did not ever see you away from the Palais Garnier in the past." Christine admitted. "I felt free to speak to him and explain the truth about what happened to me."

"I did follow you, both to his estate and then to the dark restaurant that he took you to 'to discuss matters in private, where his family could not overhear you either'. Of course I needed to know what you would tell him. I was able to bribe a waiter to let me stand in the waiter's station, which was within eavesdropping distance from your table."

Gustave turned to his father and exclaimed, "Eeew, Father, that is very creepy. How could you follow her like that?"

Erik replied looking a little shameful, "At the time I was terribly jealous and needed to know everything that your mother was both saying and doing. In hindsight it was very 'creepy', as you would say, and yes to most people it was unhealthy behavior. I have no real excuse for it except that I was not in my right mind. I only know that I desperately wanted to remain a part of your mother's life, and felt that I was being booted out of it. I was starved for her affection, which she had once freely given to me. I had never had someone that I had cared for in that way before that time, and did not understand that it was wrong to invade someone's privacy like that. In truth I had little concept of privacy altogether. When we began to speak about this part your mother and I both warned you that my behavior would be very disturbing. But please, keep in mind that I had never really lived among men. I knew nothing about how to deport myself among them, like an ordinary person. I had little previous examples to go by. The gypsies regularly violated one another's privacy and listened in on one another making love, or gossiping about someone. In Persia, the Shah purposely and regularly set spies among his subjects to be sure that they were not traitors. I was frequently employed as one of them because I was so stealthy by nature, and he valued that trait in me. Even at the Opera House gossip and spying was rampant. I did not know any other way. That is why 'creepy' is a relative term, to be employ only when the person acting in such a way actual has concept of the proper boundaries of human behavior. At the time I was trying to ascertain what Christine was thinking and protecting myself from harm. In seeking out the Vicomte and telling him the truth about what happened your mother had already betrayed the terms that I had set prior to letting her go."

Christine turned to her children, "Much later I forgave him for doing it. His fears were not without foundation. I did tell the Vicomte everything, but not before extracting from him a promise not to involve the police. You see, even then, I did not want any harm to befall your father. A part of me was still grateful to him for all that he had done. Raoul was outraged and only his previous promise not to involve the police kept him from doing so right there and then. I had not exacted a promise from him however to either refrain from going after your father on his own or from offering a reward for his capture. Because of my neglect to do so, Raoul made it known, especially around the opera house that he would give a handsome reward to anyone who could either kill the Phantom, or deliver to the gendarmes."

Erik cut in, "The Vicomte sent in several of his men to try to find my hiding place, but they all turned back in failure. In the meantime while the critics were raving about your mother's voice, the managers failed to see what was right in front of their faces. They took a conservative approach and continued to use La Carlotta as their Prima Donna. They explained to many that they would start using Christine in more prominent roles but insisted that her voice as of yet needed more work, and that she should content herself to be the understudy for La Carlotta. I was outraged by this act. Even the most skeptical critics had explicitly stated that your mother's performance called to mind the voices many of the greatest sopranos, yet those two fools even overrode Monsieur Reyer's wishes and cast your mother in a role where her voice would not be heard by the audience. They wanted to suffocate her voice merely because they had concluded that she was _my_ protégée." He explained irritably.

"Well I was your protégée darling, they were not wrong about that." Christine reminded him.

'Yes, mon amour, you were but you were also innocent of any wrongdoing. You were the best voice that had graced that stage in living memory, yet they hid you away from where you were meant to be, center stage." Erik replied.

"They used me as a weapon to get to you. They knew that my career was the only thing that you really cared about, and so by denying me my time in the limelight they could defy you and your demands," Christine told them.

"The former managers had their vengeance against me at last. They had carefully chosen those particular men as their successors because the new managers were not familiar with Opera at all. The new managers were there simply to make a profit. They did not care about the quality of the production as long as they could have a full opera house. They knew that La Carlotta was still able to draw a large crowd, and that even my own antics had fuelled curiosity, hence adding to the throngs of opera- goers. They were impervious to my demands because they did not care what I did as long as seats were being sold. My old friend and co-conspirator Antoinette partially turned on me because; once the crooked managers had gone, she felt there was no longer a reason to exact our price upon the new manager's. I tried to convince her otherwise, but she would only reluctantly deliver my various demands. Our friendship became strained over that issue and we grew more distant from one another. The old managers had walked away with a tidy sum, smug in their knowledge that they would never have to deal with me again. The new managers, well I would have to teach them a lesson or so I thought.'

'The new managers, Andre and Fermin, were extremely stubborn and disrespectful to me. They would do the opposite of whatever I wanted, just because it was _my_ suggestion. They were ever eager to prove that they would not accept my guidance, even when it was meant to improve the productions. I did not need the money that I demanded; it was supposed to be their tribute to me as the true power within the opera house, much like a subdued tribe, in ancient times, had to pay tribute to the Caesars of Rome. I felt it to be my right even if they were honest, which admittedly they were. Yet, over the years I had come to believe that I was the Caesar of the Opera House. It was my way of exercising power over my domain. Perhaps I was wrong, and even somewhat pig headed in my arrogance, but, to defend my actions you must understand that I liked having a place in the world of men, even if it was obtained by unscrupulous means. It meant the world to a man like me who had been feared and rejected by humanity from his very first breath. There was a place where I both belonged and was respected, but they refused to go along with the rules of my game and thus we all suffered the consequences."


	22. Chapter 22

I will thank all of you in the next chapter it has been a while. I will try to get another one out by Thursday to make up for the length of time between updates this last week.

Chapter 22.

The story was paused while the family went outside to bask in the sunlight. The sun had not appeared since the day that they had been sledding and it felt like they had been released from prison. It was nice to feel the distant winter sun gently caressing their pale homebound faces. Erik could not imagine how he had once lived underground without any natural light. The sky above had turned a beautiful cerulean blue. The air was still crisp from the cold, but had warmed considerably compared to the previous few days. Erik and Christine were both glad to have a reprieve from their unhappy feelings about the past. The sorrow and pain threatened to overwhelm them both; not in anger towards one another, but in regret for how their once mutual mistrust of one another had led to death and disaster. It had been a long time since they had discussed that time. Their bucolic life had been far too sweet to cloud it with their guilty reflections.

They had never before discussed the events as a whole, nor had they stopped to compare their feelings and observations in the same way that they had been doing with their children. It brought to the other a different prospective of what had happened; and how their mistakes that only served to exacerbate the mistrust between them. Those decisions had seemed right at the time, but they were tragically wrong. The burden of the deaths resulting from their actions weighed heavily upon both of them, especially upon Erik. He stood in the sun staring at his bloodstained hands, for a moment, and wondered if he truly deserved his happy ending. He looked at his loving family, and the wonderful life that he made with Christine, and could not help but to be content. Perhaps he was happy both despite, and because, of the heavy price that he had paid to survive and to gain it. Pondering further upon it, he could not regret that he was so content. 'Poor unhappy Erik' had been left behind in the lair, just like the Persian. The odd juxtaposition of happiness and tragedy was ever a mainstay in his life, but preferable to the pure hopelessness and despair that had once defined it.

Christine also was deep in thought about the past. While Christine's role in the bloodshed was much less direct, she too felt the weight of her terrible choices. What if she had said nothing to Raoul about Erik? Would Erik have felt less betrayed? What if instead she had gone to her foster mother, Madame Giry, and confessed to her what had happened in the lair and sought her advice instead? Perhaps her foster mother would have told Christine what she knew of Erik? Might she have soothed her fears by explaining his past, and his true nature? Would she have confessed to her that she knew Erik and that the rumors about her were mostly false, and that Erik would never harm her? Perhaps then she might have realized that in Erik's heart he was good and kind of spirit? She might have perceived that Erik only needed someone to give him love to make him thrive and become the gentle man that his nature intended him to be? Madame Giry might also have helped her to understand the demon's that beset Erik thereby igniting at least her compassion for him, if nothing else.

She had always regretted her own role in the deaths that had ensued; but now, once again, after hearing Erik's side of what happened, her heart burned with even more pain and regret, but she too could not help but to be content. The couple stood side by side voicelessly comfortable with one another, as they watched their innocent children play in the snow. Christine could not help but to feel strong desire to touch her husband even as she watched the children interact. She knew that he needed such reassurance to remind him that he was indeed loved. She placed her fingers around Erik's and gave him a loving gaze, which was ardently returned. She could see the gentleness in his beautiful emerald eyes; they no longer burned with pain, anger and sadness, but looked peaceful, gentle and content.

Still standing quietly hand in hand, they both watched in amusement as Gustave crept up on Meg and put a snowball down her snow parka. She gave him a cry of righteous anger, but rather than run and complain to her parents, as she once would have done, she retaliated by throwing a snowball at Gustave. She hit him squarely in the chest, thereby requiring swift retribution from Gustave. Their two dogs, not entirely sure what to make of their play, started running beside the children and barking at them. The children continued to pelt, both one another, and the dogs as well with continuous volleys of snowballs. Erik and Christine both laughed, enjoying the interaction between the children. One errant snowball hit Erik in the face. Christine laughed mirthfully and then quickly looked at Erik. She wondered which Erik would come out, the stern father, or the prankster? She did not have to wait to find out, as she suddenly felt a snowball pelt her. Erik's aim had found its mark knocking Christine's sable hood right off of her head.

She turned to him in laughter, "Why did you throw one at me? I am innocent."

He shrugged and then laughed even harder, "Because you laughed at me. More importantly you look exquisitely beautiful even when you are covered in snow. Your beauty never dims or fades. You look like a snow angel" he replied, adoringly.

Christine laughed, "And you look like a loveable troll." She teased. Then she bent down and made a snowball and smiled mischievously at her husband. Erik backed away a little as if to escape, but he stopped and faced her with a crooked smile willing her to make her move. Christine's aim was good; after all she had grown up in Sweden. She hit Erik squarely in the jaw and laughed at the sight of the fearsome looking man's face dripping with wet snow. He scooped up yet another large snowball, and looked like he was about to hit her yet again but instead turned and hit Gustave. Meg looked smug at her father's intervention in their game, clearly on her side. Christine felt obligated to pelt Meg, so that it was a fair fight. Soon the whole family was pelting one another. The dogs continued to circle them and bark as well, not sure whether or not that they liked the game. Once everyone was soaked they return to the house and changed into dry clothes. They all felt refreshed and satisfied. The activity had released much of the tension that the narrative brought.

Christine made them all some hot chocolate, and poured a little bit of brandy into both her and Erik's mug, providing additional warmth. Erik could feel the warmth from the chocolate and the brandy seep into his body, embracing him. He could feel his tension ebb away, almost completely, but not quite. He knew that the children would want to hear more, and he braced for what he would have to tell him. When they were all warm and snug, Erik continued the narrative. This part would prove even more difficult than the others, as Erik would have to confess to his crimes in Paris; the very acts, which once drew Christine even further away from him, as well as his friends; the cursed acts that eventually lead to the final confrontation in his lair after which everything changed.

"After watching your mother and the Vicomte together at the restaurant, I did not know what to do about your mother's betrayal of her word to me. I pondered about whether I needed to confront her about violating my terms, or whether to ignore what she had done? My first instinct was to come to her and berate her for betraying me; to make her feel the same pain that she had inflicted upon me. But I realized that it would only increase her fear and discomfort with me, which was not what I wanted. I did not want to alienate her further, and I was not sure what good that it would do, even if I tried."

Erik paused to organize his thoughts and then continued. "Several days later the Vicomte appeared at the opera house once again and immediately sought out your mother. I followed them to the roof of the Opera House, where they thought that they would be safe from me." Erik laughed self-depreciatory and continued, "As if they could have escaped from me any where in my opera house."

He stared at Christine feeling suddenly transfixed reminding her, "Even before the deaths that I did cause, you were afraid of me. You decided to show Raoul the view of Paris from up there, the very same view that I had once introduced you to when you were a sad and lonely child. I led you up to the roof of the theatre. I wanted to make you understand the endless possibilities that your future life would have, and that your father's death, while unfortunate, was only a small pebble in the sands of time. You had not been afraid of me then. My words at the time had comforted you, a poor orphaned child, your tears turned to smiles, and I too smiled inside even though you never saw my face. I was hiding behind Apollo's bust as I often did. That night, when you brought the Vicomte there, I assumed my place; but your words that evening were far from comforting to me. The Vicomte You and he stood there together, clinging to one another, for support, as you related every terrible thing that you remembered about me. You told him about my face, my lair and worse yet the path down to it. He was quizzing you so that he could get a better description of me so that I might be hunted more efficiently. You were most eager to be of assistance to him. You told him every detail that you could remember, even details that I had believed that you had noticed."

Christine looked at her husband apologetically as she remembered, "I am so sorry ange. Please believe me, I did not know what he wanted with my descriptions nor did I think that you would be there. I thought that we were alone."

Erik replied softly, "Where else would I have been but near you? I often followed you to make sure that you were safe. There were a lot of unsavory characters running around the Palais Garnier and you were young, innocent and beautiful. I was not even sure that the Vicomte wasn't with you to take advantage of you. I followed you to assure that you would be safe. The roof of the Opera House was no place for a girl to be alone with a man."

"I was so young, and way too innocent to understand what harm that I might do to you. It wasn't that I didn't care about you, even when I turned away. My feelings towards you were oddly conflicted. I wanted Raoul to protect me from you and yet I did not wish you ill. I truly did not have a clue of the fact that Raoul was using what information that I gave him to hunt you down. If I had I would never have cooperated. I wanted only peace, not for Raoul to hunt you down." Christine explained, "You know that now."

Erik gave her a forced smile, "Of course I do _now._ But back then your actions reeked of betrayal, what were your exact words to the Vicomte that night? Oh yes they were _'Raoul, I have never seen anything like that face, if you can call it that. It was so horrible, like a rotting corpse, and his lips were bloated and distorted. His skin was so yellowed and thin that you could see every vein, every muscle, and even his skull. In one spot it looked as if I could se clearly into his brain. His head was smooth, ivory and bulbous, like a skull, with only a few lonely tufts of grey hair covering its stark pale baldness. His long bony hands reeked of death. His eyes seemed almost yellow and flushed with anger. They glowed unnaturally like two twin embers of flame. They burned right into me like two sharp knives, cutting me deeply, burrowing into my soul. Raoul, I could not bear to spend another moment with him. He made my skin crawl. I felt as if he would imprison me for all eternity in his dark and horrible sarcophagus.' _

Meg interrupted shooting her mother an angry glance, "You didn't really describe him that way did you? If you did that was horrible."

Christine looked at her daughter and replied "Your father rarely lies or exaggerates", she then glanced at Erik apologetically, "I did say it exactly that way didn't I? You always remember everything."

Erik smiled bitterly, "Yes, Sometimes my genius works against me. I do remember everything exactly as it happened, even when I want to forget. But you were right, I look exactly like how you described me to him."

"No you don't. You look like my beloved Angel and husband." Christine insisted.

"I look that way, Christine," He repeated softly."But I no longer care as much as I once did. I have everything that I ever wanted, you, a loving family, everything."

Meg smiled at him, "We do love you father."

Erik mouthed, "Thank you," and then continued. "I stood there in silence, watching the two lovers exchange passionate kisses. I felt my heart cry out in pain as the woman that I cherished betrayed me yet again. I wanted to cut that organ out of me so that it could never feel anything again. I could scarcely breathe. I had to lean against a wall behind Apollo's bust, as I felt my heart continue spasm from grief, and my throat closed, cutting air off from reaching my lungs. My vision grew grey and then black. I felt myself begin to fall. But right then my vision cleared and I was able to catch myself and regain my senses. In that brief time the lovers had left, and I was alone in the bitterly cold darkness, which encompassed both in the air around me and the heart inside of me. In my anger, I tossed both my mask and my wig off of the side of the building, to test the velocity and direction of their fall for my next object, me. I was tired of the constant pain, loneliness and rejection that life had dished out at me and wanted to end my suffering for good by jumping to my death.'

Meg gasped, "No, you didn't."

Erik replied softly, "Yes I did. I looked around to make sure that no one else was on the roof to see me and then took several steps to the edge of the roof. I looked down and the ground beckoned to me looking so inviting. I watched my mask narrowly missed a woman who was strolling with her child on the Rue Scribe. She screamed in a panic, and then looked up, but she did not see me. It was black and dark, and I was wearing a black cloak, obscuring me. I watched silently as she ran away. I felt a tinge of guilt that I might have hit either her or her baby. Again, I stood at the edge of the roof, watching the street below; it was so tempting to follow my mask and my wig and deliver myself into Hell, but at the last moment I stepped away."

Meg had tears in her eyes, "Poor Father to be so sad. I am glad that you did not jump."

Gustave agreed, "So do I. You have always taught us to be grateful that we are alive, and tell us that it is never too late for things to improve, as long as you do not give up."

Erik nodded his agreement, "And so I did. I turned back from the abyss and decided to return to my first love, music. I hoped that it would sooth me even without my muse, your mother. I decided that the Devil could wait a little longer for me, while I, at least, waited long enough to complete my opera, '_Don Juan Triumphant_'. I had worked hard on it for the past ten years. I wanted to listen to your mother sing my music one last time, and it would be my opera that she performed as my sort of requiem. I decided that I would stay my hand for the moment to finish it, and wait to confront her about her betrayals, and exact my revenge. I continued to see her, and her Vicomte together growing closer and closer and felt nothing but ever growing pain and jealousy.'

'I had noticed that, since she ignored me and refused my teaching, the quality of her singing had begun to deteriorate. I could readily perceive that the light had gone out of her music, and that she was singing with little spirit or joy. That was an even greater betrayal than her rejection of me as a man; she had rejected our mutual master itself, Music. I did not anticipate that she would grow to despise music, as she despised me. I had thought it to be too entrenched in her soul, as it was in mine. I had given almost ten years of my life to helping her, carefully cultivating her voice to achieve perfection, all for nothing. Without my guidance her voice had become wooden and lifeless. I wanted to continue our lessons but she made sure that she was never alone in the opera house; for fear that I would take her once again."

Christine cut in, and admitted, "I was in mortal fear that he would take me again, and force me to sing for him, or even worse. I thought my escape to be miraculous given the terror in which I had begun to view him. I wiped our good memories away and chose only to remember both the horror of his face, and the fierceness of his temper. I was sure that if I had not deceived him into believing that I would continue as we had been, that he would have taken me down there once again against my will, this time forever. I could not pretend to want to sing, because, in my eyes, to sing was to cede to the Phantom his dominion over me. In my mind, my angel was gone, replaced by the monster that was universally despised as the Phantom of the Opera. I would avidly listen to others, as they would tell stories about the 'Phantom's' numerous supposed crimes. I believed every one of them. I was sure that he was waiting in the wings, ready to snatch me up at a moment's notice. I made sure that I was never alone, never vulnerable. Even in the darkness of the night, I would reject his pleas to talk and would turn away from him. I was so terrified that he would force himself upon me and that would spell the end of my freedom forever."

Erik sighed, "I had no intention of doing so, despite my disappointment in her. Her rejection of me did have a corrosive effect upon my sanity but I still had enough self-control, to not go after your mother and force her to explain to me, why she refused to keep her promises to me. She believed herself to be safe from me provided that someone accompanied her at all times, but that assumption could not be further from the truth. I had al sorts of passageways and effective techniques, which I could have employed, at any time, to snatch her away to my lair. I had spend a good portion of my life making myself both invisible to others, yet able to scare them into refraining from looking for me.'

'I could have employed a multitude of plots to frustrate any effort that they might have had to shield her from me. In the end your mother's best defense from me was my own desire not to make her hate me even more.' Once my anger from the rooftop had faded, once again, I tried giving her some time to let what happened in my lair fade from her mind and memory. I had hoped that her love of music would take hold of her again, and lead her back to me, and away from her Vicomte. But, to my grief, my patience did not work; my absence from her life only served to harden her heart against me. Your mother heard only the worst one-sided allegations about me over and over again. I watched helplessly as others blackened my reputation ever more in her eyes. There were many rumors of murders and rapes all attributed to me, but I was not the only man who lurked about the theatre. Other men, even other men in masks slithered about like snakes, hunting for prey. I never did yet, when someone got pregnant by accident, or something was found out of kilter, I was almost always blamed.'

'Also, to make matters worse for me, the Vicomte had not given up on capturing me, and bringing me to justice for all of my supposed 'crimes'; including the ones falsely attributed to me. His appallingly large offer of reward for my killing, or capture, proved to be a strong incentive for many to try to apprehend me. It was strange how the prospect of a small fortune proved to make heroes out of cowards. I had always employed a network of traps to discourage anyone from entering my realm, but they had never been deadly, only scary. It was all that I had ever needed to secure my home from a would-be interlocutor, that and well the occasional revelation of my hideous face, at exactly eye length, looking just dead enough to make someone turn away in fear. As a man living deep below ground with a dearth of company, I needed something to both amuse me, and protect me at the same time. I would watch with satisfaction when an intruder would run away in fear.'

'Yet, with a bounty on my head, I was less safe than ever. I complained to the Persian about these new incursions into my realm. I also poured out my heart about your mother's rejection of me. The Persian took it as a sign that it was time for me to find a new home, preferably in a different country such as Argentina. The Daroga was especially keen on Argentina, because the life of a vaquero on the Pampas of Patagonia held some romantic allure for him. He thought that the sparse population of the area would offer me a very attractive alternative to the darkness of my lair. He emphasized that I could convert my Punjab to a lasso employing my skill to ply a respected trade, roping cattle. Naturally, I had no desire to leave France. I had tried other countries already and did not see the point of looking for a home abroad again. Frustrated, as always, by my failure to listen to him, the Persian alternatively begged me to come and to live with him and Darius. I was not keen on that notion either, it had not been right for me before. I still found it to be less than ideal. I did not think myself the sort to live with other men without suppressing the desire to kill them when my somewhat mercurial anger was aroused.'

'I did not really want to leave the safety of my home beneath the opera house. It was admittedly very lonely and dark, and somewhat dreary, but it also reflected my mood of the day. I was also lonely, dark and somewhat dreary, so we were suited to one another. I did not see the point of starting over once again to live another empty phase of my life. What would I have to live for if I turned my back on my one solace, my music? Also, while I refused to admit it, I was far too much in love with your mother to give up my hopes of somehow winning her love. I did not know how I could succeed in winning the love of a person who was both repulsed by me, and deathly afraid of me. Even if I had not kidnapped her, and she had not seen my hideous face, and equally repulsive temper, I was no match for the rich, handsome and gallant Vicomte. I would not have the ability to charge in on my perfectly groomed white horse and give your mother the life that he could. While I was far from poor, I knew that my face alone had lost the battle for me, against the handsome and charming Vicomte.'

Erik turned away once again overwhelmed by his emotions. Christine took his hand and held it to her face caressing it. "I am glad that you didn't give up on me ange."

'Yet there was a time when you would have been." He reminded her, and then he returned to his narrative. " To keep the increasing number of marauders out, I found that I had to set up ever more elaborate traps. My existing traps were no longer adequate to deter those who would claim Raoul's reward from attempting to hunt me down. I employed new traps on the perimeter of my home. They were all designed to kill. They were my last defenses and necessary for my survival. I had designed similar ones to protect the Shah so I knew about their effectiveness. Unfortunately the Vicomte's offer was very tempting to many, so my defenses were often tried. I was reduced to living like a beast and protecting both my lair and my life. Only one man managed to make it to my perimeter, and he was caught in one of my death traps. Fortunately for him I heard his screams of pain and took pity on him, I came forward intending to rescue him. I recognized him immediately. He was a sceneshifter named Joseph Buquet, who I knew to be a greedy man. Half the time he was drunk, the other half he spent ogling and stalking women even though he was a married man. Even before the offer of reward, he would claim to have had 'Phantom sightings' all the time.'

'Buquet had set out armed with a pistol hoping to find me and shoot me. He fell for none of my less lethal deterrents and persevered on undaunted. When he tripped one of my perimeter traps, I went to him and demanded to know what he was doing in my domain. I had no intention of killing him provided that I extracted a promise from him that he never again come down and disturb me. I released him, and told him never to return or I would hunt him down and kill him. Even so did not want to comply with my terms. Instead he still believed that he held the upper hand since I looked unarmed and he was sporting his pistol. Once he was free he immediately grabbed his pistol and aimed it directly at my heart. I warned him once again to leave, and never come back, but he just taunted me and told me that, once I was gone, he would claim your mother as his own. Even if I did not particularly value my own life, I did value your mother's virtue. I had noticed his movement and quickly unfurled my Punjab, which I had kept coiled in my hand it was unfurled and around his neck, before he could even fire his weapon. In the darkness he had not seen what I had held in my hands, and like a fool he left his neck open and vulnerable to my weapon. I had perfect vision in the dark. This time I took no pity upon him. I snapped the lasso around his neck and he was dead.'

'I decided that I would hang his dead body from the rafters above the stage in an attempt to deter other would be hunters from searching for me. It was not easy to get him there. I had to bring up Caesar from the stables and borrow a cart, to bring him to a small elevator that I had installed for my use years before, to lift him the level of the rafters. Once we were on that level I had to load a net with his body and lift it with pulley's to a position high above the rafters, directly over the center of the stage. When it was time for the show, I decided that I would wait for the music to grow very loud to mask my sounds, and then I would lower the net with the body to the rest on the top of the rafters. I had to walk onto the rafters, and tie one end of the noose to the rafters, and place other end around his neck. I then cut away the net and let him fall. I had not meant for the chandelier to fall, but unfortunately I inadvertently cut the rope securing it as well causing the chandelier to fall directly onto the stage narrowly missing both your mother and La Carlotta who had been standing directly underneath it. Your mother looked up and was the only one who caught sight of my black cloak and white mask. Our eyes met, mine in apology and hers in fear. She was sure that I had just tried to kill her, when my only intention was to warn people not to seek me out. I saw her give me one last terrible look, and then turn her face away from me. I watched helplessly as the Vicomte rushed the stage and placed his arms around her, consoling her for what had happened.'

'Because I had chosen to make threats rather than explain to my friends what had happened, not a soul believed me that Buquet's death had been in self defense, and that I had not intended to drop the chandelier. After that, the gendarmes no longer viewed me as beneath their concern, they too placed a reward upon my head. There was a large public outcry against me. Many of Paris' most illustrious citizens had been in attendance that night. I went from being considered a minor nuisance to being a major problem. I was universally reviled as a ruthless murderer.'

'Even the Persian came down to upbraid me, and threatened to turn me in to the gendarmes. He would not listen to a word that I said, telling me that I had finally gone too far. "I rue the day that I saved you back then back in Persia. You are as evil as they have said all along. I will not turn you in this time, because even now I feel a small sense of loyalty to you. You did save my life on more than one occasion and I am returning the favor for the last time. But this time is the last, and from here on out I want nothing to do with you. I will not come to visit to play chess with you or aid or abet you any further in your criminal actions. You are truly on your own. I will only remain in Paris to make sure that I am here to turn you over to the authorities the very next time that you decide to murder or kidnap someone to satisfy your unending craving to kill. I am angry with myself even more than I am with you for helping you survive for all of these years. I am glad that you never accepted my offer of friendship because you are incapable of being anyone's friend. It was the one honorable thing that you ever did.'

'I had tried to interrupt in the beginning of his angry tirade, but he was too mad at me to listen or care for what I had to say. After a while, I too became angry. I felt sorely put upon by his accusations. I felt that it was not fair to me that he would accuse me without giving me a chance to defend my actions. I decided that I would not deign to do so. I felt that I did not need either him or his superior sense of morality and that I was finished with everyone. As the Persian continued to berate me, my anger towards him built up and then exploded. I pulled out my Punjab, and jerked it around his neck squeezing it to the point where I almost killed him, but then I pulled back realizing that I was close to killing him. I dropped my weapon and he quickly recovered from his ordeal. He looked at me with true fear in his eyes for the very first time. He had now seen me at my worst, and did not like what he found. I had given wind to my anger and unleashed it upon him. After I released the Persian, my anger had been spent. I was horrified that I had treated him in such a fashion. I tried to come forward to help but he sprang to his feet with every bit of strength and bravado that remained inside of him. He pulled out a pistol, from his pants, and aimed it squarely at me.

He looked at me fiercely and spoke very hoarsely, the irritation in his throat from the rope was very apparent, "Do not touch me or I shall kill you right here, Erik. You have truly shown me who and what you really are, and you are beneath either my contempt or pity. I never want to see you or hear of you again."

'I tried to apologize but he cut me off, "You have heard my terms, if you so much as harm a hair on anyone else's head, I will not protect you again. I will lead them to this lair, and Allah help me I shall watch in satisfaction as they cut off your head and display it to the world. Your soul is as hideous as your face, you are a murderer and a monster."

I looked at him voicelessly. I knew that I had finally overstepped my boundaries and that he was truly finished with me. I felt a sharp pain of regret but quickly suppressed it. After the Daroga stormed away from me, I saw a woman's form jump out at him, it was Antoinette Giry and she had witnessed everything. I could see it in her eyes that she too thought me to be a monster. She begged the Persian to accompany her up to the surface. My isolation was complete; I had lost all of my friends, and made many new enemies that day. My heart turned to stone so completely that I was past carrying about anyone or anything any more. I decided that their defection was a good thing. It made my situation more clear to me. I was done with humanity for good. The very next day I crept out and violated my promise to the Persian. I started building a maze of mirrors to keep out the world for good, especially the Persian. I knew that if I constructed one to protect me from an uncaring world that not even the Daroga would be able to get past it and do me harm. He had drawn a line in the sand against me and in return I did the same to him.'


	23. Chapter 23

I delayed my 'thank you's' hoping that I would get a few more to thank. Unfortunately I did not have that luxury. I knew ahead of time that I would lose readers EC before chapter 10, RC after. It is somewhat depressing but predictable. Fortunately, I did not set out to write this particular one to gain the popular vote but because I wanted to tell this story. Ah well if I missed you I am sorry. First of all thank you to all who have favorite and followed both this story and me thus far. I am very grateful to you because that act gets the word out to others about this story. Also while I am slow to implement my beta, Judybear236's corrections, I do eventually do so. I am afraid that Chapter 21 might be her last one for a while because she has inexplicably disappeared without explanation for the last couple of weeks. It is not like her so I hope to hear from her soon. Anyhow here goes victomoffiction thank you for your comment that you like my writing style that is what an author most likes to hear. Cyn2K I hope that you are still reading this. I have not heard from you for a while but enjoyed your reviews.

AcrobaticNutterfl, I hope that you found your password. If not I still appreciated your review. I hope that you are still reading. Maria0789, great to hear from you and exchange messages I am glad that you finally caught up. If anyone else seeks a clarification be sure to PM me or put it in your review and I will answer. Kit Kat and BadassSyd. I miss your reviews of every chapter but understand when life gets in the way. Catch up when you can. I am glad to see that you are out there and thank you again for your continuing support. MimiPied I am sure that you are still reading. MarilynKC, TMara and You are Love, thank you for your consistent reviews. Without you, even if I do keep reminding you and myself that I am writing this for me, I am not sure that if you three disappeared that I would still continue. A person needs some encouragement! Judybear236, come out come out wherever you are. I miss you and not just as my beta but also as my friend. Only you would have the patience to correct all my punctuation errors… I hate to have to rely on auto correct…. who knows what grave punctuation sins that I will commit in the future. Anyhow on with chapter 23 I promised you all a quick one to make up for my last slow update and here it is…

Chapter 23.

Erik stood up and excused himself momentarily. He promised a quick return but in truth he wanted a moment to himself to reflect on what he had just told them. He had certainly made mistakes with his actions back then, as did Christine. But he quickly concluded that he had definitely sealed all of their fates by his particular errors in judgment. They had only served to increase the distance between him and his only two friends, a gap that he had inadvertently created. One of the gravest errors that he had made was to refrain from following the Persian and Madame Giry out of his lair that night. Granted at the time, even though he was in his thirties, he had never had enough interactions with people to fully understand that when someone would say something out of anger that often times they did not mean it. Looking back on his argument with the Persian, he realized that his own need for secrecy, and refusal to name Nadir a friend had poisoned the atmosphere as it stood between them that day. If his damnable pride had not intervened and stopped him, Erik might have apologized to him for his physical attack on the Daroga. Perhaps he could have stopped the Persian and explained to him what had been going on. Likely Nadir had no idea that Raoul had put up a huge reward for his capture or death. If Nadir had known, he might have understood that Buquet's death was in self-defense, and that he had only used Buquet's body as a warning to would be infiltrators, and to further Christine's career by making the managers fear him. But instead he let the Persian walk away never knowing his version of the events. His damnable temper had gotten in the way and alienated his two friends, just as it had done with Christine earlier.

At the time he had found the Daroga's accusations to be a betrayal of the worst sort, but of what? Their friendship? What friendship? The one that he had repeatedly denied that it had even existed for all those years?" Perhaps the Persian had been rightfully upset because he already had given up everything for Erik, all because of his unwarranted sense responsibility towards him. In return Erik had given him very little but ridicule and disdain. At every turn Erik had denied his advice, unless he agreed with it. Yet, despite the Persian's own prickly sense of pride, he had stubbornly remained at Erik's side, seemingly impervious to all of his slights, believing that a better man lived burned deep inside Erik's soul. Perhaps if he had followed the Daroga and apologized that final fateful night had led to the Persian's death might not have occurred. They might have vanished together to Argentina, and he would likely be a vaquero on the sun-drench plains of South America, just as the Persian envisioned.

Yet, if he had gone away, he would not have won Christine back. He would have abandoned her to the Vicomte, and then his soul would have withered and died. Christine was his soul, at the time, his sole reason for remaining in an unfriendly world. His love for Christine was ethereal; it transcended the piteous circumstances in which he had found himself. That was what the Persian had not understood. No, he never could have listened to the Daroga's advice to leave; but he might have retained him as an ally and confidant, if he had gone to him, explained what had happened, and apologized to him. Better yet if he had finally deigned to call the Persian _doostam_, and thereby named him as a friend, perhaps with his doostam's sage advice that he always offered freely Erik might have won Christine back in a different way, a less draconian way.

Then there was Antoinette. Even then Erik understood that he had taken great advantage of their friendship, and had changed the nature of it mainly to suit his own needs, with little regard to hers. At first their relationship had been collaborative and they had laughed and plotted together. It had been a uniquely light friendship because Antoinette had made no demands upon him, either as a woman or as a friend. They had frequently shared jokes and companionship in those heady first years of their relationship. At times, when Meg was busy, she would invite him up to dine with her, and he would invite her to his lair to sample his cooking. She would compliment it greatly, and always asked if she could bring some up for Meg. His cuisine was a vast improvement over the food offered in the dormitory dining room at the opera house. She would often shop for him and find him whatever he needed to prepare his meals, including some fine clarets which were far more desirable to share with another than to drink alone. Sometimes she would surprise him with a new ingredient and challenge him into making something delicious from it. Erik was always up to the task and Antoinette never failed to enjoy the results.

It had been Antoinette's request that he help Christine to let go of her grief. Antoinette believed that it would help him as well by making him less lonely, and therefore encouraged his relationship with Christine. At first neither he nor Antoinette of them had any idea that his feelings towards Christine would change from fatherly, to sexual attraction towards her. He would never have asked for that to happen but it did. He could not help himself, or control his emotions, as they changed and eventually wrapped themselves around his heart, and his soul, torturing him as they did. Since he had once vowed to only to love music and no one or nothing else he had believed that part of him to be dead, but it had only been dormant and returned in it's fullest measure. Antoinette noticed the change almost immediately and pressured him to stop teaching her foster daughter. She predicted that his feelings would lead him to nothing but doom. She reminded him that he was almost old enough to be Christine's father, and that his face would always come between him and his pupil, should Christine ever see it. She knew that when Erik committed to something, that he committed himself to it heart and soul. She did not want to see him hurt, or Christine made to feel uncomfortable by them. She urged him to tell Christine that he had been called away to help another, now that she was on the verge of adulthood. Of course he disdained her advice, just like he had done with the Daroga's, and soon, with her disapproval, their relationship began to change. He had become more mercurial towards her and less friendly, since he could feel her increasing disapprobation of his actions. The dinners grew scarce and gradually disappeared. Instead of her surprising him with what she would bring for them to share, he would send her notes, asking her to go shopping for him, and leaving her a little bit more money, as if he were buying her services and not expecting them out of friendship. The bottles of claret were soon enjoyed alone, since the Daroga did not drink alcohol, due to his Islamic faith. He felt the sharp bite of loneliness, which only served to increase his sense of abandonment by all of humanity.

As he had told the children earlier, Antoinette had also disagreed with his decision to continue to demand his 'salary', once the new managers came in. He claimed to her that his many services to the opera house had vastly contributed to its overall improvement as a venue for the arts and therefore he still deserved it. It was all true, he did help the Opera Populaire improve considerably, but his help had not been asked for and the new managers did not truly want his input. He could have walked away right there. He was a rich man without collecting a centime from them, but there was the issue of whole was in control of the Opera House. In his eyes it was his realm and it was they who were the interlocutors. He took their attitude towards him as a slight, but was it really, at least at first, due to their disdain for him; or did they find it rather disconcerting to take orders from a disembodied voice claiming to be a ghost who also sent notes demanding their acquiescence? Antoinette had repeatedly begged him to take a less active role in the theatre, to perhaps let them fail and wait for them to come to him. She also disagreed with his campaign to force them to fire La Carlotta. While Antoinette despised the Prima Donna as much as Erik did, she agreed with the managers that the Italian diva was still a huge draw for an audience more interested in her name and her reputation than her singing abilities. To an untrained ear, La Carlotta's overdone style sounded passable enough. Very few theatregoers possessed Erik's keen ear for music, and knew when Carlotta missed certain notes and cues. Antoinette repeatedly chided him to have patience and to let Christine evolve into the job. Antoinette had not even greatly minded that he had paved the way for Christine's debut by lacing Carlotta's food with a harmless substance that he knew would make her ill for a day or two; she even gave Erik a secret approving smile at his prank. It was the aftermath that she disapproved of. When the managers returned La Carlotta to the stage and Erik fumed to Antoinette about it. She again advised Erik to have patience. She reminded him that Christine had already received the acclaim of all of Paris and it was only a matter of time before the new managers would see that La Carlotta was past her prime. Despite that advice he had continued to badger the management to advance Christine's career, sending them notes promising disasters to come should they not comply with his wishes. Even after the Christine had rejected him, he had continued to send them his infamous notes demanding that Christine replace La Carlotta immediately.

Now, years later, and being more mature and settled, he could clearly see his old friend's point of view. Reluctantly, he had even come to agree with it. What was his rush back then, really? The wait would have not been a long one. La Carlotta was in her late thirties and would not have physically been able to perform much longer. Christine was still in her teens and had a bright future ahead of her; with his help she would have ascended to stardom eventually, even without the draconian steps that he had taken. In hindsight he could see why La Carlotta resented Christine. Christine was young and beautiful and not yet even in her prime of life. Carlotta was growing middle aged and had to wear heavy makeup to disguise her increasing physical imperfections. The diva must have known that she would have to retire soon, but she craved the limelight for as long as she could have it. As a man consigned to the shadows, why did he not see that in her? If he had not been blinded by his own demands he might have better understood that others, such as La Carlotta, might as well have had nothing to fall back upon but their music.

Sure, it was a badly kept secret that La Carlotta and Signore Piangi were sharing a romantic liaison behind the stage. Yet it was the sort of relationship that often went on between performers: and definitely a poor substitution for the love that still emanated towards her from the adoring crowd. As a man who craved love and affection, why did he not see that he and La Carlotta were not that much different? Why had he been so insistent that Christine replace La Carlotta right there and then? Was it to keep Christine under his manipulative thumb? Back then he had felt strongly that he needed to hold on to the most precious jewel that he had ever owned, her voice. Admittedly, back then; he believed that he rightfully owned her because _he_ had been the one to sculpt her voice into the state of perfection that culminated in her debut. He had brought her to the edge of both fame and acclaim. No one else, not even her, had the right to claim her. But he could own another human, or force them to feel what he wanted them to. His selfishness had turned it all into dust, because, in his madness, his love and feeling of ownership had turned into an obsession. He had been broken many times, and his fractured mind needed to grasp onto the one last tie that had linked him to humanity, his last anchor to sanity, but he drove Christine away. Broken and rudderless he had sunk into a state so low that he could not seem to rise out of it. His spirit so crushed that and his anger and pain caused him to lash out in every way that he could. He had been like a mortally wounded, yet dangerous, beast, still capable of inflicting pain and distrustful of anyone who tried to help him, and perhaps even heal him. Both of his friends had gotten in his way and so he turned his back on them rather than accept the rightness of their words. He had wrongfully deemed their attempts at saving himself, from himself, as the ultimate treachery. In fact the only real traitor to him, back in those days, was his own stubborn, and twisted mind. It was he who betrayed his friends not the other way around.

At least Antoinette was able to survive his betrayal of her. He was not either then, or now, a poor man. He had a talent for making money. Even then he recognized Antoinette's past service to him, and his promises to her. Before leaving France he set up an irrevocable trust account at a Paris bank where they would continue to send Antoinette a comfortable 'salary' for as long as she lived. He had also fulfilled his promise to her that Meg would become 'an Empress'. He sent a note reminding a nobleman, that he had once saved from thieves, of the debt that he owed to him. He would not force the man to marry Meg; he would not condemn her to a forced unhappy marriage, even if the nobleman were a nice and honorable man. He only asked that this acquaintance call upon her and, if he was not interested, help Meg to find a suitable man among his circle to marry. Naturally he hinted that Meg would have a very large dowry, which would help such a suitor out of any financial difficulties that they might have incurred. This nobleman apparently liked what he saw and kept both Meg and her dowry, and they married. He had done right by the Giry's at least. He did not need to feel guilty about the Girys. Even though Antoinette turned her back on him, he did not retaliate. He still considered Antoinette to be a friend, but for her own sake as well as his he did let her believe that he was dead, just like the rest of the world. He did not think that his death would matter to her that much after his actions in those last months. His real regret was that he had to make her believe that Christine was dead as well. That loss must have affected her greatly. She probably hated him for it. She most likely believed that if Raoul had not felt the need to take her away and hide her in New Zealand, that they never would have boarded that doomed ship.

Erik had taken care of Darius as well. Darius, without Nadir to keep him as a servant, became Erik's eyes and ears to the world. He had accompanied them on the ship to Canada. Instead of coming to St. Etienne de Malbaie with them, Erik set him up in Montreal as his agent. It was through the Zoroastrian that he was able to both monitor any potential threats to him, and have an agent to make able transactions for him when necessary. It was to Nadir's flat that he and Christine had fled in the beginning, to wait to see if the Daroga had somehow made it out to safety despite the odds. For a month they had remained there waiting for a sign, any sign, that the Daroga had escaped the maze, but there was nothing. Finally Erik himself, together with Darius, tried to go in to search for the Daroga's body in the maze but the area around the maze had collapsed enshrouding it in fallen rocks and rubble. A perfect mausoleum to a dead man, Erik noted darkly to himself not sharing that thought with Darius. Even then, when he knew that it was hopeless, Erik had tried to dig him out, but an unstable portion of the rubble became undone almost trapping Erik inside with the body of his Persian friend. Erik was beside himself with pain, at his failure to at least retrieve the Daroga's body for burial, in Persia, but Darius soothed him by reminding him that the Muslims do not have ornate burial rites like the Christian's do, that they bury their dead in a simple shroud. Darius and Erik stood there for a moment jointly acknowledging their shared their grief over their mutual friend's death. Erik's obvious state of grief did much to dispel the last measure of coldness that once existed between them.

"_I have been to many Muslim funerals, I know the prayers by heart. We can grant him a funeral here and now, we, his two closest friends, can send him to Allah together," the Zoroastrian offered._

"_Yes, we can do that for him." Erik replied. "Although I am not sure what his Allah will think about a lapsed Catholic and a Zoroastrian offering Islamic prayers to him."_

_Their eyes met in mutual amusement, cutting through their grief. _

"_You know that the Mirza cared about you more than he did his own family? He felt a responsibility towards you since he had brought you to Persia to begin with, and allowed you to go before the Shah and serve him. He could not forgive himself for doing so since you were only a young and innocent child at the time," the Zoroastrian explained._

"_I was not so innocent," Erik had replied bitterly. "I never did understand why he thought that I was. By the time I had reached Egypt I had already killed my first man, and had stolen and tricked my way all the way from Northern France to Pompeii in Italy."_

"_He did not mean it in that way exactly. He claimed that you had retained certain innocence and goodness of spirit that had survived even the worst atrocities that you had been forced to perform. He believed that you were a lamb that he brought before his cursed cousin to be sacrificed on the altar of his cousin's evil. His only regret in saving you was that he did not do so earlier before you could start blaming yourself for what you had been manipulated into doing. He knew that you would never forgive yourself for any of it," Darius explained._

_Erik looked at the Zoroastrian in surprise, "He was a fool to believe that of me. It was he who was the lamb sacrificed to me, the lion. Perhaps I was young in age, but by the time that I reached Persia I was far from the innocent that he portrayed me to be."_

_Darius nodded in agreement, "That is what I used to tell him, but he would just smile at me and tell me that I was judging you harshly, by your face and not your soul. At first I did not believe him, we all feared you as the 'Angel of Death'. Muslim, Christian, Jew and Zoroastrian alike, the Shah had made you act the part and dress the part, and walk around unmasked so that you would strike fear in the heart of every Persian that saw you. Oh, you played your part well but yet better than you think. Even when you were unaware of it, the Shah would trumpet you around as the embodiment of death. He exclaim to all that he could always make us special appointment for you to dispatch all who defied him to Shaytoon. To my eternal shame I believed it was true that you were a creation of Angra Mainyu, an evil spirit sent to destroy good. But once I got to know you I realized that you were truly just a man, like any other. The Mirza was right about you all along. I can see your grief for him in your eyes, and in the sadness of your look. You have a thousand daggers of pain piercing your heart at this moment. You are clearly mourning for the loss of our mutual doostam. Why did you never call him friend? That used to bother him greatly that you refused to do so, when he offered you his friendship so many times."_

_Erik had given him a bitter laugh, "I also believed that I was a creation of Angra Mainyu. How else to explain my face and temperament? I was too ashamed of who I was to degrade the Daroga by naming him as my friend. It someone seemed selfish and unworthy of me to do so, after all that he had done for me."_

_Darius looked at him with a sad smile, "He told me that he was sure that some day you would be the man that the Lord Ahura Mazda, or his Allah,_

_Truly created you to be an Angel of Music, Architecture and the Arts, a man of learning and of kindness. A man defined by love and not hatred. He was sure of it even to the end, even after your last argument."_

"_But I have disappointed him, over and over again. I have not been that man." Erik replied with a sob sinking to his knees in shame and regret._

"_But you still can be Effendi." Darius replied soothingly while sitting down beside him. "It is a proper way to honor his memory by becoming the man that he knew that you could be. No more killing, kidnapping or demands on others. If that heart that he described to me is really there then you will do him no greater justice than to become a good man. That was what he wanted and expected of you. He saw your genius and wanted to see you put it to good use."_

"_Do you think so Darius?" Erik asked, looking into his eyes. _

"_I think so, Effendi. But only you can know for sure," the Zoroastrian replied._

"_You must call me Doostam, I am not your superior in any way, but perhaps I can offer you the friendship that I denied to Nadir; if you are willing to accept it." Erik offered putting out his hand to shake the Zoroastrian's._

_Darius shook it firmly, "Then we are agreed, Doostam."_

_They both looked at the pile of rocks covering the body of their mutual friend and then again at one another, "Shall we begin our prayers for him?"_

_Darius silently nodded his agreement and then they began to chant the ancient Islamic prayers. Erik then sang the Kyrie Eleison in memory of his dead friend and comrade. His voice was so beautiful that it brought tears to Darius' eyes._

"_Now I know for sure that you are of Ahura Mazda, for no evil spirit could have gifted you with such a pure voice." Darius observed._

_Erik was very pleased and comforted by the fact that the Zoroastrian could say that even after all that he had done. When they were done Erik looked at the pile of debris one last time and told him tearfully, "pashimanam doostam puzish mi khwaham, Khuda Nighadaar doostam." (I am sorry. Please forgive me. May God be with you my friend." (If any one here speaks Farsi and this is wrong my apologies. I do not speak Farsi.) _

At that moment Christine walked in interrupting Erik's reverie. She looked at Erik in concern, "You said that you would be gone for a minute and you have taken a little longer than expected. Are you all right? You look a little sad."

Erik replied with a smile, "Yes of course I am. This is the happiest time of my life. I was just thinking about my old for a moment. How I should have gone after both Nadir and Antoinette and explained everything."

A shadow of guilt crossed Christine's face, "Yes, we both have many regrets from that time. I wish that you could have saved Nadir. I was very insensitive to your pain when you returned. I was too busy resenting you for everything. I was terrible."

"You were as beautiful as always, just rightfully more than a little bit afraid of me, and afraid for the future, understandably so." Erik told her.

"Too bad I did not have the power of sight. I would have eagerly boarded that ship with you instead of looking backwards in regret and fear." Christine admitted.

"And I would have eagerly accepted you to board, although I did anyways. Whether I had your love or your hatred I always loved having you around." Erik told her.

"I never hated you Erik, I only thought that I did. I have loved you forever." Christine declared with a smile.

"Do you think so, my love? You say so now but back then your views were starkly different." Erik reminded her.

That was because I was lying to you, and to myself. I have loved you from the moment that you first sang to me to comfort me. I love you even more now than I did then." Christine told kissing his face gently.

"And I love you as well, ange. Sadly now I must tell them about that night." Erik replied.

"I will help you." Christine replied. They went hand in hand and returned to the children.


	24. Chapter 24

Well, this chapter is very sad and rather morbid, but it is an important link to the final lair. I was not the one who laid out such a terrible life for poor Erik, I can only retell it, not change it completely, and we all know that Erik was not of sound mind when he entered that lair, but what exactly did he do while he finished writing _Don Juan Triumphant?_

Chapter 24.

Christine looked at Erik and asked, "How are we going to handle the next part?"

Erik met her concerned gaze, "I know of no way to sugarcoat it. I was terrible. But if I do not tell them they will not understand what followed.

It was you that wanted me to tell them the story, the whole story. I am doing it as best as I can. They may not be as innocent when I am done." Erik replied, somewhat bitterly. "They will know that their father once was a monster both in looks and in actions."

"You were not Erik, you were lost and lonely. I know that now," Christine, explained, "You were not a monster or a freak, you were trying to make us hear you, and feel your pain, yet you did not know how to do so."

"You are too good to me, ange; Too eager to forgive the past. I hope that the children will forgive me." Erik purred giving her a grateful and loving look.

"I took your example. You were the first to forgive me, and I said some terrible things about you. If you had truly been the monster that you so readily paint yourself to be, you would have never forgiven me, you might have killed me instead." Christine replied fiercely.

"I would never harm a hair on that beautiful head. Not even if you were to try to harm me. I am yours to do whatever you might command of me. I always have been, mon amour." Erik replied hoarsely.

Christine replied with a smile, "Then I command that you continue to love me, and stay by my side forever."

Erik gave her a courtly bow and replied lightly, "As you command Madame."

Christine giggled, "I most certainly do."

After their tet-a-tet was finished, Christine and Erik returned to the children prepared to continue the story. Meg looked at Erik and asked him, very sweetly, "Are you alright Father? Are you afraid that we are mad at you for killing that man? It sounded like you had no choice?"

Erik answered softly, touched with her concern, "I am fine Meg. I just needed some time to myself for a moment. It has been many years since I have had a chance to think about all of these people, and what I might have done differently to avoid some of the consequences, while preserving our happy ending. I still miss my old friends, just as you would miss yours if you had to leave them behind. There were only two of them but they were both really kind to me, in a time when I could not find kindness anywhere else. I wish that I had listened to them more. You see, in those days, I really did not know very much about the world, especially about how to behave around other people, especially not how to make and retain a friendship. My friends were older and far worldlier than I was. I should have valued them more and let them know how I grateful that I was to them for befriending me."

Meg looked at her father thoughtfully, "But you seem to do alright now. I mean you have no enemies here. My friends parents seem to like you."

"I have learned much about human relationships since then." Erik replied while glancing at Christine, "Your mother has tamed the Phantom living inside of me, turning him into her trained lap dog," he added speaking in a velvety tone. "I wanted to be the good husband that she deserved, not the madman who terrorized the opera house with his murders and threats."

"I still cannot see what other choices that you had, the man tried to kill you." Meg repeated. "You only fought back."

'Sadly, Meg, I did have other, less drastic choices, at least about what to do with Buquet. Perhaps those solutions were little less obvious to me than the one that I took, but they were there for me to use just the same. As much as I would like to, I cannot excuse my actions completely. I could have tried to subdue him without breaking his neck and, eventually, let him go with a warning not to hunt me down again. Also, I might have chosen to let him kill me and collect his reward, I had no family back then. I might not have been missed."

Christine interrupted, "I would have missed you, mon ange, perhaps my behavior at the time did not show it, but when you disappeared for those six months right after Buquet's death, I did feel as if something vital was missing in my life. Even if I did not yet realize that it was you."

Erik smiled at her warmly, but with a hint of sadness, "Yes, so you claim, but your behavior at the time showed me otherwise. I was sure that the best way to please you was to disappear from your life forever."

"I didn't understand what I lost until I almost lost it forever." Christine admitted, taking Erik's hand. "By then the misunderstandings between us had become a wide chasm." She turned to her children and told them, "It was tragic how quickly our relationship had deteriorated to the point where I saw each and every action that your father took as something evil and sinister."

Erik countered, "Perhaps you did so because they _were_ evil and sinister. Of course at the time, to me, I thought that I was doing what I needed to do to stay alive. Whatever the case, Meg, as I told you earlier, I had other, less sinister, options available to me. I did not even attempt them because I refused to consider them. If I had used my head, and not my heart, I would have attempted to buy Buquet off with my own money. I had more than enough money to match the sum that the Vicomte offered. Yet, angry fool that I was, I chose the course that came naturally to me; I killed him. Then, like a barbarian, I chose to hang him from the rafters. I wanted to put the fear of me into everyone, and to make my voice heard above all others.'

' Oh, and how _well_ I succeeded in doing so," he added, sardonically. "I had hundreds of people living in fear of me, including my former friends. In a sense I replicated, in my tiny realm, exactly what the Shah did in Persia; the very man that I claimed to despise. The Daroga was unfortunate enough to have found two men cut from the same murderous cloth to serve as his closest friends. He rescued me from his cousin, only to find that I had done a great job of emulating the Shah. Like Naser-al-din, I used fear as a tool for both gaining and retaining my power. So you see Meg, I most definitely could have chosen a better course, one designed to enlist allies, not enemies. Yet I did not consider any of those choices. I merely reacted, like the unthinking murdering beast that I was believed to be. In doing so I only made your mother even more fearful of me, the exact opposite of what I had desired."

Christine admitted, and then recalled, "He did make me much more fearful of him than I had been, as well as everyone else. It was the first time that anyone had ever actually seen one of the 'Phantom's Victims'. The other deaths and rapes attributed to him were all rumored, never confirmed. This time the evidence of his violent nature was right before us. We all screamed in fright at what we saw. It truly was horrible to see that man hanging lifelessly above the stage. Then, just then, right after seeing that lifeless body, the chandelier dropped, falling dangerously close to me, almost killing me. I looked up in shock and saw your father. Our eyes met, just for a moment but I made sure that he knew my opinion of him. What had happened to my formerly gentle tutor, was he ever real? Or did he deceive me in every way possible? If he had resorted to murdering, who would be next? Would his hunger for blood ever be sated? For that moment, as our gazes meet, I had lost all of my fear of him, I was far too angry to be afraid. I wondered if he might actually kill me the next time, if I failed to accede to whatever his demands might be. It made me wonder if my former angel was even more dangerous than I had previously thought. Would I be the next body to hang from the rafters, or perhaps someone that I cared about such as Raoul?'

'Worse yet was the fact that he used the killing to scare the managers into promoting me to the position of Prima Donna. I had never asked for him to do so. If I had wanted to be the Prima Donna, I was more than willing to pay my dues and wait for La Carlotta to retire. I would not, nor could not, ever sanction murder for the sake of advancing my career. If my voice was not good enough for me to win that honor, without such help, then so be it. No position was worth that sort of price. It was true that I did not care for La Carlotta, and I longed for the day that she would be ready to retire; but that did not mean that I wanted it to happen right away. I was young; I had my whole life ahead of me. My ambitions had time to be realized. Yet some, particularly La Carlotta, accused me of being the driving force behind the Phantom's rampage. She pointed out the fact that the Phantom had never been so terrible before. I was angry with your father for putting me in such a position when I had worked so hard for all of those years mainly to please him. Yet I had become so frightened by what your father had done that I thought about turning my back on everything, especially music, and returning to Sweden. Yet, I was afraid that even there, in my homeland, I might be too close to escape from him. I was afraid that the Phantom would follow me there and wreck havoc on my relatives, and anyone else that might dare to defy him to protect me. I was sure that he would not simply let me walk away from him. To live my life, as I wanted it, without murder or death surrounding me, without his demands that I serve him, as a slave to his music.'

'Also, there was Raoul. I thought that I might in love with him. By then we had been going out almost every night and his charm and kind and easy nature started becoming more and more appealing to me. Admittedly, I did not feel the same fire in my soul that I did when I had been with your father. His voice did not make my spirit soar, as you father's voice did. Raoul did not make me yearn for higher things, to strive for perfection. But Raoul was a good man, and unlike your father, he was uncomplicated and undemanding. I had known him for a long time, and knew that he had very honorable intentions towards me. In time he would ask me to marry him. Ever since we had been reunited, he had been always there for me, attending every opera just to watch me perform the minor roles that the managers had consigned me to. They might not have given me any roles, in defiance of the Phantom, but the Parisian press was clamoring for more of me, almost as much as your father did. Raoul convinced the managers to comply, because he knew that I needed to earn my keep, and was too proud to accept his money. The difference is that the press would not kill for me to be heard, and I had thought that your father would. The critics had loved my premiere performance, and even called me the up and coming star of a new generation of the Parisian opera performers. It once would have made me ecstatic but I could only think of that creepy automaton of me, and wonder what my 'master' might require of me next. Perhaps he could give her my voice since I was no longer willing to share it with him. "

Christine paused for a moment and then continued, "Naturally, right after the disaster, I went to Raoul for both comfort and protection against your father. I was a lost soul clamoring for a new path to follow, as my previous one had suddenly become so distasteful to me. I had spent much of my time trying to please the man who had pretended to be an angel, yet who was, in my mind, a vicious murderer. Raoul stepped forth to guard me and guide me and I was grateful to him for doing so despite the risks to his own safety. He swore to me, almost immediately, that he would protect me from the Opera Ghost. " Christine looked away as if in a trance, as she remembered her growing affection for Raoul at that time.

Erik observed her look and knew that for the moment Christine was in another place and time. There was a time that her words might have brought out his anger; but he would not allow himself to be jealous of his former rival. In the end he was the one who won the war between them despite all of what he had done. Of course the name Raoul de Chagny would never be forgotten by any of them. How could it be forgotten when he had to use that name all of the time? But Buquet's death was part of the reason that he had been forced to do so. It had turned him into a wanted man, not just by de Chagny and his promised world but suddenly everyone wanted to find the Phantom who had been haunting the opera house. It had been the opening volley of the end game that began to rage between him and the Vicomte, a game that only one of them could win. How terrible the children must feel to know that their mother once feared their father so much that she had thought him to be capable of murdering her; and she had justification for believing it.

The chandelier had fallen dangerously close to Christine, scaring even him with its unintended consequences. He did recover his wits to take advantage of its fall, and yes, it looked as if it could have been cut on purpose in an attempt to harm either La Carlotta or Christine. Even then he quickly realized that he had been a fool to allow his emotions to get in the way. His temper had always been his Achilles heel, and once again it served to drive Christine away, far away. He could not blame Christine for pulling away from him even further. He saw the anger in her eyes when she looked up at him. Her look of hatred brought despair to his face, even as she turned away, undoubtedly wondering how to escape his clutches. Yet he could not blame her for seeking out the Vicomte to help her to escape him. It had been his actions that had poisoned the atmosphere between them, not hers. He had done everything that he could to drive her straight into the Vicomte's waiting arms and that was exactly where she went for comfort and protection. Naturally his rival accepted her offering. Why wouldn't he?

Once again he picked up the narrative, where Christine had left off, "After Buquet, I followed your mother and the Vicomte around to see her reaction and determine what they, particularly your mother, would have to say about me. To my distress, I could see that she was still terrified and hysterical. I had not meant for my action to have that effect on her. Strangely I had not thought about the effect on her at all, despite my growing obsession for her. Stupidly, I did not think about all of the consequences before I had hung Buquet's body from the rafters, I wanted only to reestablish my authority over the management of the theatre. Your mother's future role was central to my plans but she was not my primary reason for doing what I did. Given the opportunity I would have explained my rationale to her, but she did not give me the privacy that I needed to do so. As usual she was surrounded first by a gaggle of people and then the Vicomte alone. I might have used my ventriloquism to reassure her but I was afraid that in her state of panic that it could make matters worse, so I remained silent, yet watching. I felt a stab of regret as I listened while she confided her complete fear of me to Vicomte.'

'To my complete dismay, she was convinced that I had wanted to kill her with the chandelier. She again reiterated how terrible and hideous that I was. She told that boy that she had lost whatever good feeling had remained towards me, and extracted yet another promise from him for his protection against me. I saw him take her hand into his and stare into her eyes with his gallant ones, and his perfect lips met your mother's lips once again and then they kissed. I turned away feeling nauseous, knowing once again that I never could compete with that man. If I could have run him through right there and then, I might have done so. Still I did not want to kill your mother's precious beau right in front of her igniting even more hatred from her. Yet my hands itched to do so. He was everything that I was not, handsome and dashing. Instead of killing him I cursed, first your mother and then myself for causing me to love her so deeply and obsessively while in return she hated me, " Erik explained edgily.

Christine placed her hand on his arm, "You underestimated your own appeal ange. Yes, perhaps at the time it looked like I despised you and that I had turned my back on you forever, but even when I thought the worst about you there was a part of me that remained yours and yours alone. It was only that I was young and frightened and my childhood friend stepped forward to protect me. It was easier to fall into his arms than to confront you and demand an explanation from you for what looked to be your crimes. You set out to make everyone afraid of you and you did your job well. Again, my feelings were based upon the little knowledge that I had about you. I did not know that he had hunted you down and had intended to kill you. It appeared to me that you simply killed mindlessly, without regard for the sanctity of human life. That we were all your puppets to pull on a string, and that any of us defied you that that would share Buquet's fate. I did not understand that you too felt alone and vulnerable. As usual, I never looked at matters from your point of view. I failed to see you as you were, as a desperate man."

Erik interrupted, "I would have loved to tell you that you were wrong about me; that at the time I did care that I caused the death of others; but by then I was past caring about anything but finishing my opera and exacting revenge upon those that I felt had wronged me. Your cleaving to the Vicomte against me combined with my argument with the Persian, served to complete my downward spiral into madness. After the Persian left, I decided that it was time to bar the rest of the world from any access to my home, even him. I tried to tell myself that it was a matter of my own safety, but the truth was that in my mind, I had been completely abandoned by the rest of humanity. I didn't see what I owed to my fellow man other than returning their disdain for me with mine for them. I left one unsealed outlet to the outside world open, and it was one completely unknown to the Persian.'

'I had originally built it as an escape route should my home prove to become unsafe for me. I had followed the source of the water in Lake Auvergne, the lake underneath the Palais Garnier to its source. There was part of an abandoned aquifer, that led to some long buried Roman Era streets and catacombs, which in terminated could in an opening beneath the nave of small and largely neglected Catholic Church in a poor and unassuming part of Paris. The church was built over an ancient Roman temple. I had hid some supplies in the ancient structures, which I was now seeking to bring back to my house. Yet as I approached where I kept them, I espied a small fissure that I had never noticed before. The fissure was large enough for me to squeeze through; it looked as if it had been purposely hidden from view even when it had been built, so naturally I was curious. In pagan Roman times, many practitioners of both Christianity and Judaism were forced to bury their dead in secret places carved out beneath the city. The place that I found was one of these, as I entered, I could feel a faint gust of stale dusty air move discretely against my cheeks. I felt very familiar with that place. It reminded me of some of the ancient Egyptian burial sites that I had entered years before as a younger man.'

'I felt right at home in this newly discovered place, brimming with the skeletons and sarcophagi of ancient Christians and Jews. They had built their vast necropolis beneath the heart of the ancient city, and it called to me to claim it as my own. In my own mind I was one of them, and fate had decreed this new realm to be my future home. I belonged in that lonely place of darkness and death, and not in the light, which I had tried to claim but had always cast me aside. I shed a few tears as I again realized that I never would or could be loved, or even merely wanted by anyone, who was as yet still living. Perhaps the denizens of the catacombs had once been loved and wanted; yet they too, like me, had been long forgotten and discarded by humanity due to the passage of time. There was no one that was left alive to mourn them in their death, any more that there was anyone to mourn or care about me, even as I lived. I just assumed my place among them earlier than they once had, and in life, and not in death. I had searched the world for that special place where I could belong and be accepted, and finally found it there among the ancient and forgotten dead. The irony occurred to me that for all of those empty years that I spent searching, my true place in the world had been there all along, just beyond my subterranean home. I was sure that I had been the only living soul to visit those lonely chambers in a thousand years or more and that suited me. In those darkened chambers full of bones, and ghosts, I did not need to worry that I, in particular, would stand out from the rest. In my wanderings there I found, and then picked up an ancient mirror lying in the dust. I put down my lantern, and took off my mask, and then I stared at the reflection looking back at me. I was no more hideous than they were. I was their equal in every way. I laughed maniacally, at this realization, even as madness had descended completely into my broken and shattered soul consuming me completely. Yet I savored the feeling. I felt a strange sense of belonging that I had never felt before. Who cared whether my fellow skeletons could speak to me or not? I did not mind the quiet. In time I would share their fate, and my sadness and darkness would leave me forever, as theirs had. I knew that each one of my new bedfellows had once endured some sort sorrow and pain, but they did not suffer anymore. Why should I fight the soothing darkness of death when someday it would be the same for me?'

I thought about simply lying down beside one of them and closing my eyes forever. It was tempting but I couldn't do so, at least not yet. I knew that I would be forced cling to life until I finished my opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_. Also, I felt the need to your hear mother sing my words with her perfect voice one last time, before I could permit myself the luxury of death. Only then would I be worthy to end my misery by reuniting with death. In my twisted and demented mind I believed that I had no more reason to live once the opera was finished and performed. With my friends gone, and my beloved angel in the arms of the Vicomte, I had no one left who could drag me back into sanity. With that purpose in mind, I returned to my silent and empty lair, and vowed not to leave it until I finished my opera, and thereby would be able to complete my obligation to life and join death. To complete the isolation that I felt was necessary for completing my task; I left only to obtain the supplies necessary to build my maze of mirrors, and other immediate needs. Once I obtained them I wanted to keep the entire world out until such time as I could complete my opera.'

'When the communards had occupied the uppermost labyrinth beneath the opera house they had left two rooms filled with useful items that I had uncovered and that I intended to make use of. The first room was a storehouse filled with all sorts of canned foodstuffs, and even some grains. They contained enough food for me to exist on for a few years should it have proven necessary. As you know I have never had a large appetite so I was perfectly content with using those stores so that I might have less reason to come to the surface. Also there was a room filled with dynamite, enough to blast the entire central core of Paris into dust. I decided that, if the Vicomte continued to send people down to threaten my life, that I would make use of the dynamite in any possible way that I could. I did not debate the ethics of killing so many to either save my own life or to punish my, would be, assassins. I knew that I would die but it would be on my own terms, not theirs, certainly not the Vicomte's. I was beyond caring about anything in the world above, devoting myself only to completing my opera, and nothing more.'


	25. Chapter 25

Readers, these chapters are difficult to write. I do not really want to write them but this part of the tale is not really my story, this is not an AU but adheres to the original story. It is difficult for me to write but I can do it because someone who was very close to me once tried to describe to me what his mental disease was doing to him. Sadly he did not make it. In his pain he turned to substance abuse, and it made a bad situation worse. These chapters are dedicated to him, my late brother. I love you David.

Chapter 25.

Erik felt himself drifting back into time as he related his story. Truthfully, it felt like the events at the opera house were in many ways lived by a completely different man, a darker and angrier man, and a lonely man, who had never known either love or joy. He could remember the feelings that he endured back then, strong feelings. During those last months at the opera house, his mood of betrayal and loneliness seeped through everything that he touched. Corroding his grip on reality more and more, until it was gone. It was like a cancer eating at his brain, a disease that he could not stop. He tried opium, as he had done in the past, but it served only to heighten his anger and paranoia, rather than comfort him. Often times if he were not playing his organ, he was passed out on the bench or the floor, numb to the world around him. Gradually it became too late to pull out of that state even if he tried. But he did not try, instead he relished it, embraced it, perhaps hoping that one day he would go to far and wouldn't wake up. But he labored on; he used his feelings to convert his opera into the strongest piece of music that he had ever written.

He had no distractions, at least not real ones, only the ones manufactured in his infected mind, and the real task of completing his new and deadly maze of mirrors. He wanted to keep the world out for good and knew that his maze would catch all who dare invade his realm. He had snickered to himself that if anyone were clever enough to get through his other defenses, as Buquet did, that they would have such a cruel surprise waiting for him. Unlike the one in Persia, there was no way out from the inside at all, except if the person outside was willing to release you. He would be that person, and surely he would not be willing to release anyone from there. He did not put the maze in a place where many would dare come; only the greediest and the stupidest would dare look for him in his realm. He did not worry that any but the Vicomte's minions would dare approach. He had no friends left. The world had shown him no mercy, no compassion and, most of all, no love: _nothing_! He didn't see any reason why he would ever be compelled to show mercy to another when mercy was never applied to him. '_How wrong he was!_' He reminded himself darkly. Yet he also realized that the opium had made him even more paranoid. He had not touched opium since then, despite its continuing popularity.

Gustave looked at his father, "You have stopped listening father, I asked you a question and you looked at me blankly."

Erik heard his son's voice through his internal fog, "Uh, sorry son, what did you ask me?"

"I asked you whether or not you tried to apologize in writing and explain everything to Mother during that time. It seems to me that if the Vicomte was sending people to hunt you that you could have explained everything to her then. It seems so drastic to just cut yourself off from the world like that. If I were alone in the dark for all that time, I might feel crazy as well." Gustave stated bluntly.

"Your mother was not in the mood for an explanations from me, and I was not in the mood to give any. I felt nothing but rage and sorrow at my fate, and that pushed my love for her to the back of my mind. I did not think that any gestures towards your mother would have been well received, so I did not bother to make them. Remember I thought that she was afraid of me mostly because of my face, not because of my actions."

Meg interjected, "Perhaps if you had sung for mother she might have listened. You both say that your singing brought you together. Why didn't you try to sing for Mother, and remind her that you would never harm her? Surely there must have been one opportune time during that six months that you might have been able to do so."

Erik smiled sadly, "I let go of your mother during that time, just as I let go of everyone and everything else. I was much too busy finishing my opera to bother with any other matter. I put every emotion that I had experienced during that period into my music, and that included my love for her. It was my substitute for the real thing. It was reflected in the aria that I composed for her to sing after her character, Aminta, discovered that Don Juan had committed suicide. In it she finally realized that she and Don Juan were one and the same soul, and that her callous rejection of him, has consigned her own to join him in Hell." Erik looked at Christine and smiled, "Although it was unique, your mother to this day has never performed my opera, nor has anyone else for that matter. It lies untouched in the catacombs beneath Paris, and I have not composed an opera since then."

Meg asked curiously, "Why not? If you worked on it for so long why did you not at least bring it with you? Why leave it down there where no one would find it, at least not for a long time?"

Erik glanced at Christine and then at his daughter, "Because it is too powerful. No one but your mother has ever heard any of it, and even she has heard only bits and pieces of it. To listen to my opera, is to get trapped inside of it. If you listen for too long it infiltrates your soul, and causes you to burn with the powerful emotions that are better left unstirred."

"But yet you wrote it to be heard?" Gustave asked.

"Yes but it will not ever be, it is far too subversive." Erik explained looking at Christine.

Christine added, "Your father is right. It was the most intense, yet beautiful piece of music that I ever heard. Completely sublime, a true masterpiece. But it unleashed emotions that you would not even suspect existed inside of you, until the music reached inside and pulled them out. Once freed, they swirl around you. They are difficult to put back, almost impossible. Your father once likened it to Pandora's box, intriguing and irresistible to open but dangerous if you do."

Erik teased, "Not so different than me ange. You were initially attracted to me but then when you unmasked me you had wished that you could escape what you saw."

"But later, I discovered that the same box that I opened there contained a rare but valuable jewel, and how I value it now. Yes, I almost threw it away, but I am here with you now aren't I?" Christine replied softly.

"You did throw it away and when you went looking for it, it was no longer there." Erik reminded her.

Christine picked up where Erik left off and explained, "No, you had vanished."

She turned to her children and continued, "In the first month of your father's absence I felt a sigh of relief. I had half expected more bodies to show up, or at least some sort of threats to issue, but no one received any word from the Phantom, nothing at all. I had hoped that he had realized that what he had done was terrible and ran away. Yet then another month passed in silence and I began to wonder whether he was simply biding his time to do more harm by staying out of sight. Even the managers had started to notice the absence of any notes, any strange disturbances, even his box had been empty, even during my solos. By the third month, I had begun to notice that my voice had become dull and lifeless. I was strangely feeling depressed despite the fact that Raoul was courting me and I thought that I loved him. In the fourth month Raoul proposed to me and I accepted. I started to wonder whether the Phantom knew, and what he would do if he did; but again there was silence. The silence was beginning to oppress me. For the first time in years I no longer heard songs in my head, and music had simply left me, bereft. Your father had been my friend and teacher for so long, and suddenly I realized that he was gone. I had believed that his absence would bring me freedom, but instead it made me feel more bound to him yet. I had to know what became of him, so I called to him through the mirror but heard nothing but silence. I tried to go down the path that he had taken me but it led straight back up to the surface. It had seemed like I had walked and walked but did not go anywhere."

Erik smiled, "I had closed off the portions that led to my lair, rerouting them back up to the surface. I thought myself to be quite clever, as I would route some of them to all sorts of odd parts of the Palais Garnier, like the coatroom, or the ladies bathroom. I was the master illusionist so I was able to make them all go away, save for the ones that led to my worst traps."

Christine continued, "The next day I again felt that sadness and wanted to make another attempt. I again found the latch to the mirror and went off in a different direction. As I walked, I started to hear an organ play, majestically and I knew that I was on the right path. I reached a fork and was unsure of which one to take. I had been walking for a while, and my candle was starting to get low. I looked both ways and could not decide. I decided to rest and listen to the music so that I perhaps would get a clue as to which way to go. The music reached out to me and called out to me, and buried itself deep inside my soul. The pain, feelings of betrayal and abandonment brought tears to my eyes as I could feel the raw emotions emanating from my music implant themselves with in me. I cried tears from places that I did not know existed, but they came unbidden and I sobbed endlessly until I fell into a strange stupor. At that moment I felt a tap on the shoulder and I realized where I was and gasped in fear. I was sure that it was my Angel-cum- Phantom, but the hand was not gloved, as his were, and the voice bore an exotic accent. I looked up to see a man with Jade Green eyes and a strange sort of Cap looking at me with concern.

Once he had my attention he asked me, _'what are you doing here Mademoiselle? It is not safe in this labyrinth, especially not for a young woman.'_

_I stuttered, 'I...I waass looking for s-someone.' _

'_Who were you looking for a lov…?' He stopped in mid-sentence after looking at my face more closely. 'Mademoiselle Daae?' he asked._

_I replied, 'Yes. But who are you?'_

_The foreigner replied, 'my name is Nadir Khan; I am a friend of Erik's. I assume that you are doing the same thing as I am, looking for him, but why are you doing so? It was my observation that you are afraid of him and wanted nothing to do with him.'_

"_Who is Erik?' I asked, 'is that my teacher? The Phantom has a name?'_

'_Yes Erik is his name, but again Mademoiselle what are you doing down here where it is unsafe? You want nothing to do with him so why seek him out. He has left you alone and yet you are playing with fire.'_

_I nodded in agreement, 'It is true, but still he was my teacher and friend for many years. I don't want him to hurt me, or anyone else for that matter but still I do care about him, at least about the part of him that was my teacher, and now he is gone. I just want to make sure that he is alright.'_

_The Persian looked into my eyes as if to look for something and then advised, 'I am sure that Erik lives. He is too stubborn to just wilt away and die. But you took an unnecessary risk in seeking him out. This labyrinth is full of all sorts of traps that Erik has put out to deter would be visitors. Even I, who knows about most of his traps, and how to avoid them, must tread lightly for fear of setting one off. I was down here trying to find a way through his paths into his lair, but the fool has shut me out completely.'_

'_Are you his friend?' I asked him. I did not realize at the time that your father had any friends._

'_Yes, at least I call myself his friend. He refuses to acknowledge me as one, although I have been for many years. I even followed him here to France to keep an eye on him and to advise him and come to his assistance if necessary.' The Persian explained._

'_Do you know why he killed Buquet?' I asked, fearful of the answer._

_The Persian shook his head no, 'I do not know the reason but there must have been. Erik does not kill just for sport or spite. He needs a good reason to do so. That is why I am looking for him. I was too angry with him, that day, to ask him why. I confronted him without thinking and hurt his feelings. I never did find out why, but I suspect that it was in self-defense.'_

_I looked at him in disbelief, 'Do you think so? It would seem to me that he killed him to prove a point or at least so that he could get his way.' I opined._

_The Persian looked at me and replied, 'at first I thought so too, yet he has not pressed the advantage that he gained by doing so, which is unlike my friend. If he had killed to make a point then why has he disappeared?'_

_I was young and naïve so I had no answer to give him. He took my hand and told me, 'It is time to return you to the surface safely Mademoiselle. Erik would not want to see you trapped in one of his devices. He would never forgive himself if something happened to you, or me for that matter for letting you continue on without steering you away.'_

'_Did you hear his music?' I asked._

'_No,' he answered quietly, 'but if you did then it means that he is alive and well. At least he is well enough to play his music', the Persian added seemingly to reassure himself._

'_If you find him, will you tell me whether he is alright?' I asked him._

'_No Mademoiselle I won't. I would like to request from you that you do not attempt to seek Erik out ever again. His grip on sanity has been somewhat tenuous for some time. If you cannot love him then you must let him go. What you are doing now is not fair to him,' the Persian explained._

'_Let __**him**__ go Monsieur?' I repeated, in disbelief, 'but it is he who cannot let me go, Monsieur Khan. He has been in my head for many years, and followed me around and spied on me, then he forced me to stay with him for almost two weeks. It is he who refuses to leave me in peace, to let me go.'_

_The Persian gave me a gentle fatherly smile and replied, 'whether or not you are aware, it is you who hold the power over Erik. Erik has never had a friend, a real friend. He spent much time cultivating your friendship, and then to both of your misfortunes fell in love with you. I don't believe that he set out to do so, after all that he has already endured in life, but nonetheless he did, and has had to face the dire consequences of it.'_

_I looked at him in confusion, 'what do you mean by saying __**all that he has endured**__? To me it would seem that he has, like a coward, hidden himself beneath the opera house both stalking and hurting people and also making outrageous demands. It is not what he has endured rather what he has inflicted that should concern you.'_

'_It is not my place to tell you what trials Erik has endured, but he has not always lived beneath the Palais Garnier,' the Persian explained, he then continued, 'But I request, and warn you as well, that if you truly have even the smallest bit of concern for Erik, and his feelings, you will stay away from him forever. He has survived much heartbreak in his life, and he might eventually get over his heartbreak over you, but you must realize that if he is made to believe that he stands the least chance of winning your love he will never let you marry the Vicomte. The best thing that you can do for both of you is to forget about his existence. In the meantime I hope that I will be able to find him and talk him into leaving France altogether. It is no longer safe here for him.'_

'_How can I forget about him when he is here, his shadow is everywhere even when he isn't?' I asked._

_The Persian smiled, 'Marry your Vicomte, and have your beautiful little children. They are bound to be handsome because of their parents. Leave the Palais Garnier behind forever and it will eventually leave you. I assure you that if you leave him alone; he will leave you alone as well. I know Erik.'_

_I nodded my agreement, and again he took my hand and this time I went with him to the surface. I turned to the Persian and told him, 'you are such a good friend to Erik. He is lucky to have you.'_

_Monsieur laughed, 'Tell that to him the stubborn lout. He refuses to this day to call me friend, or to let me do the same.'_

_I told him, 'you are his friend and a very good and loyal one at that, and he is a fool if he does not see it.'_

Years later, tears rolled down Erik cheeks as Christine recounted that part.

"I do see it, Daroga. I am so sorry doostam, please forgive me."

Christine caressed his brow soothingly, "He knows darling. He knows."

Erik replied, "I hope so. With all my heart I do. My old friend knew me better than I knew myself. I did not hear your conversation that day. No doubt I was knee deep in my compositions and opium. I barely paid any heed to the passage of time. I had not realized that almost six months had passed since I had made my presence known I probably wouldn't have cared. Unfortunately the Vicomte was not aware of what the Persian told you because his reward for my death or capture remained very much out there."

Christine interrupted, "I did not know. I figured that the Persian was right and you were simply leaving us alone. But we were not really, or at least my fiancé wasn't."

Erik continued, "No, to my surprise another man was successful and made it almost all the way to my lair. I had forgotten one of my less used passageways but someone else had found it, and interrupted me. I think that it was around a month after your conversation with Nadir. My maze was not yet deployed, so he was able to come very far. I of course still heard him, even in my stupor and immediately my Punjab was around his neck_. I questioned him, "Who sent you here?'"_

'_He replied, "The Vicomte, his reward is a fortune. I need the money for my family, please don't hurt me he pleaded."'_

'_This time I was weary of him, since I had let Buquet go and then he turned on me, "Why should I believe you?" I asked. "If you need the money that badly might you not be tempted once again to try to make it back here, or at least share my secrets with someone else and split the money?"'_

'_He choked out a reply, "No Monsieur le Fantome, I swear to you that I will never return if you promise to spare me. Please I have two little ones, one only a few months old they need a father."'_

'_I looked at the man and saw the truth written in his eyes, despite my anger, my wretched sense of compassion got in the way. I loosened my grip and then asked, "How did you get down here?" He promised to show me. I released my grip and sat him down; I quizzed him about who had sent him, and what was going on above.'_

"_Tomorrow they are having a masquerade for the new year. Everyone will be there including the Vicomte de Chagny and his fiancé Christine Daae,"_

_he told me.'_

'_He had gotten my attention, "His fiancé?" I asked._

'_The man replied, "Yes, fiancé, it is being kept a secret, but everyone knows about it. His servants have gossiped as well as Meg Giry. They are to be married in the spring and then they will go somewhere abroad to hide from you, at least until the danger has passed. The Vicomte upped his reward for you just in case you might be captured and then they could stay here in France."'_

'"_Reward?" I asked again.'_

'_The man replied "Yes 100,000 francs."'_

'_I chucked to myself, "100,000 francs, perhaps I should turn myself in for such a sizable reward. The Vicomte must be very desperate."'_

'"_I think that he wants to make his future wife feel protected from you. Everyone knows that she is terrified that you will kidnap her again," he told me.'_

'"_Kidnap her again?" I repeated in anger. "I have left everyone alone for months and yet they still think the worst of me."'_

_The man saw my angry face and looked fearful, "Please Monsieur let me go."' He begged.'_

_I nodded my agreement, "Alright I will." Yet in my heart I knew that I couldn't. They all betrayed me in the end. I made a note to myself that I would seek out the man's family and make sure that his children were cared for, but it was in my mind either him or me, and I was not willing to take a chance. When he thought that he was safe, I gave him a quick and merciful end. It was not his fault that I had grown to 'believe that no man would truly keep their promises to me, especially made under duress. Your mother, even had taught me that much." Erik explained sadly. "I reached into his coat and found some identification, and then dropped his body into the lake. Later I made a rare trip to the surface and left a sack of cash on their doorstep with an apology, and then returned home to ponder my next move. The unfortunate man's visit had served to awaken me from the dead. I would attend that Masquerade, dressed as death and make my presence known once again. The Phantom had returned with a vengeance.'_


End file.
